In My Darkness: La Poignard Cramoisi
by eenchilada98
Summary: She would listen. She heard the music, she loved him. Then dreams turned to nightmares, and the flames took her love from her. He was gone, yet he was still there. He haunted her every breath. She saw him in the shadows everywhere. When by his memory, Camillé was lost, La Chatte arose to save her. Book Two of the In My Darkness series. Read La Chatte Noire before reading this book.
1. Prologue

_Yes, it's finally here and we have something. This is the final title, by the way. I love you all!_

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

She gaped at the note in her hands. That couldn't be possible. He was _dead_… he had to be. If he were alive, he would have tried to contact her at least once in the course of this past year. It had been a year and six months since she had last seen him, and even if he were alive, so much had changed. Yet she couldn't help but feel like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders and all was right in her world again. Erik was _alive_. But that also meant that the bastard had been avoiding her for over a year. He had let her continue to believe that he was dead, let her continue to attempt to move on. She liked to think she had succeeded, but Camillé was no fool. She knew that she was deluding herself if she thought that she had truly moved on from the mysterious Opera Ghost she had so deeply fallen in love with.

Her mind still lingered on his note as she had her meeting with this correspondent, causing her to be slightly distracted. He likely managed to pull more pay from her than she ought to have given him, but her mind was other places. When the meeting was concluded, her second-in-command stepped out of the shadows and walked up to the table, sitting in the chair the other man had left.

"You realize you paid him more than you should have, right?" he asked, and she smiled lightly as she stared into the distance.

"I know I did," she agreed, chuckling slightly.

He leaned forward and looked her in the face. "Where are you, Camillé?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"I'm seeing an opera," she told him, and he leaned back again, sighing.

He shook his head. "You need to leave him behind. He's obviously gone, you said so yourself. It's been months since you last did this, why has it come back now?" She shoved the note across the table and he picked it up, reading it over. "Shit, is this real?" Camillé nodded and he let out a long breath, shoving his hand back through his hair. "So this guy is really back? You've gone to see him and everything?"

Camillé shook her head. "I haven't gone to the roof yet."

"Then what are you doing sitting here, woman? If your supposedly dead lover is waiting for you on the roof, why aren't you _up there_?"

She looked back into his eyes. "Do you really think he's up there, 'Cien?"

"There's only one way to be sure," he told her, and she nodded.

Camillé stood and walked over to the stairs, grabbing her cloak on her way up them. She stopped at the sound of Marcien's voice halfway up. He strode over to the stairs and climbed up her to level. The man kissed her forehead and placed his hands on her arms.

"Remember, should anything go badly, I am right here and all you have to do is yell for me," he reminded her as he pulled her hood over her head, making her smile.

"Thank you. I'll remember," she assured him, before kissing his cheek and mounting the rest of the stairs.

The cold air hit her face the moment she opened the door. The nights in February were not exactly the kindest on any poor soul that walked out into them. She walked a few steps out of the doorway, closing it behind her. There was no one there. Her eyes scanned all the available corners of the roof, seeing nothing. Camillé began to curse herself for believing that he was actually here. The man was dead, he couldn't just _show up _on her roof. That wasn't possible. As she walked to the edge of the roof, she looked out over the city. There was so much going on here, even at this time of night. It was a beautiful city, part of the reason she loved Paris.

The snow behind her crunched. Camillé wheeled around and saw a large, black-clad figure that was achingly familiar. He pulled his hood off of his head and she got a good look at the man underneath. His face was just as she remembered it, with a white half-mask covering the right side, just as she had dreamed of it. He was tall and lean, yet muscled and as strong as she remembered. Perhaps leaner than she remembered, but that didn't matter to her. He was here. Erik was _here_.

She walked up to him and reached out to touch his face. Her ears swore that he sucked in a breath when she did so, and she began to pull her hand away. Quick as she thought he would be, he grabbed her hand and pressed it back to his cheek. Camillé watched as his ocean blue eyes slid closed and he breathed quietly, seeming to savor her touch. A smile spread across her lips as she watched this.

"You're here," she whispered, "You're really here."

His eyes snapped open and he reflected her smile. "Yes, _Bien-Aimée. _ I am really here."

Erik watched as her deep brown eyes flashed fire in their golden flecks and she pulled her hand away from him sharply. He sucked in a breath at the cold, empty feeling he felt without her touch. The lack of her was so shocking for that moment that he had no time to prepare. Her other hand reared back and slapped him very hard across the face, sending his mask flying.

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><p><em>As I said before, I love you all. Anybody confused about what just happened?<em>

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to ask me what the Hell I'm thinking? Review or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


	2. The Interim Part I - Camillé

**Chapter One: The Interim Part I - Camillé**

Camillé looked up at Daniel as he walked into the room. He noted that she looked like Death. Her eyes had sunken in as she refused to eat, she was pale and wraith-like, and her eyes were dull and brown, lacking any shine or sparkle. It was as if she had become a shell of her former self. Her eyes quickly diverted to somewhere else, where she stared blankly. She was sitting up with her legs pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. His heart ached to see her in such a state. Daniel sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. She accepted him and leaned her head against his collarbone, her eyes sliding closed.

He kissed her hair and laid his head on hers. "I wish you would speak, Camillé. I wish you would tell me something, _anything_, as opposed to this silence. I only want to help you, love, but I can't unless you tell me how. My hands are tied while you sit in this loathsome quiet."

She turned around and looked at him, and for the first time in three weeks, she actually met his eyes. In that instant, he saw the pain in her soul and the anguish she felt. His heart clenched and he looked at her with pity. Her eyes filled with tears and she dove into his arms, clutching him close to her. He held her just as tightly as she cried with him, letting him see how broken she was. It had been three weeks since they had gone to the remains of the Opera House, three weeks since he had been found with her by the de Chagnys and taken into their home. It had been three weeks since Camillé had broken down. She refused to eat, to sleep, to speak… she was destroying herself. And he didn't know how to fix it.

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><p>It had now been a month and a half since they had come here. The de Chagnys had been very gracious hosts, and had been perfectly willing to let them stay as long as they needed – Philippe especially had been insistent that they remain. Yet Daniel knew that he could not stay there much longer. Camillé had given him the estate before they left, and now he was in charge. He had to go back to Mireval to run the business, loath though he was to leave her. Finally, after he was assured by Philippe and Raoul that she would be perfectly well cared for and they would not let anything happen to her, he departed.<p>

The first few days after his departure were dull and silent. Raoul and Christine had been married five weeks ago, and had now settled into their life together. Philippe had taken over Daniel previous position, caring for Camillé and visiting her at least three times a day. By some miracle, the captain had managed to get her to eat, but she was still not speaking. Samuel had warned them in a letter that when her little sister died, she did not speak to anyone for six months, regardless of how hard they tried. He had only gotten her to smile, really smile, after a year had gone by. They did not pretend to know why she was in this state, but they tried their hardest to aid her along towards recovery.

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><p>After two months, Philippe had been called away on business to another city and Christine had taken over caring for the woman in one of their guest rooms. It was only two days after she had taken this over that she brought in her tray of food and sat down in the chair beside her. Camillé looked over at her and Christine smiled, clearing her throat slightly and gesturing for her to eat.<p>

"How did you know him?" she asked out of the blue, and Camillé looked at her briefly with a blank look. Christine smiled at her and explained, "You look as I feel. I continue to tell myself that it is foolish to miss him and grieve him as I do, I know Raoul would hate it if I told him, but I can't help it. He was so wonderful and mysterious… ethereal, in a way." Camillé took on a shocked expression. "Don't look so surprised. He was my Angel of Music before he was ever the Phantom in my eyes, and the love I have for my Angel remains in my heart even though he lied to me. He may have been dangerous, yes, but perhaps that was what drew me to him."

When Camillé shook her head, Christine smiled again. "We found you next to the Opera House. There's only one reason you would be there – to see if he was still here. I admit, I've been myself while Raoul was out. It's hard to see his lair destroyed like that, isn't it?"

Camillé nodded and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, dear, I didn't mean to make you cry," Christine sighed, "I suppose I'll leave you be for now. Enjoy your supper," she said, and without another word, left the room.

She watched the younger woman leave the room with tear-filled eyes. What had happened between them? Why did Christine say she _loved _him? _What _had happened?

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><p>Christine returned the next morning and Camillé held her back, grasping her wrist and nodding to the chair. The young Daaé sat down and looked over at her as she ate her breakfast, wondering why she was to stay. When Camillé looked at her, she realized that she wanted her to speak.<p>

"Good morning," she offered again, though she'd already said it, "How are you feeling?" Camillé's expression told her that was a stupid question; one only had to look at her to tell how she was feeling. "That was thoughtless of me, I'm sorry."

Camillé shrugged as if to forgive her and they sat in silence for a while.

"If I may… what was he to you? I can tell he was something just by the way you acted to me last night. What was he to you?" she asked, trying to get her to talk, but received nothing.

Christine was about to speak again and apologize when Camillé pulled something from around her neck over her head. It was the chain that she had always seen her wear, but she had never seen what was on it. The older woman handed over the necklace and dropped it into Christine's hands. She looked down at a beautiful diamond ring. There were what looked to be knots on both sides of the singular diamond, and the ring itself was silver. It was beautiful and simple and quite obviously an engagement ring.

"This… you… he gave you this?" Christine sputtered out, unsure what this meant.

Camillé nodded and smiled slightly, reminiscing. Christine examined the ring for another moment, then pointed to the round moonstone ring on her right hand.

"Did he give you that as well?" she asked, causing Camillé to look down at it. She looked pained for a moment, then nodded. "Were you engaged to him?" Again, Camillé nodded. Christine gave her back her diamond ring, then stood. "Obviously he was very, very special to you. I'm sorry, I didn't know," she muttered before leaving the room quickly.

Camillé watched her go again, wondering why the girl had reacted so strangely to the fact that she and Erik had been together. What had happened between them?

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><p>Later that day, in the evening, Christine brought in her supper and sat down beside her without being asked. Camillé looked up and saw that she was crying. Without thinking, she set down the tray on the bed beside her and stood up, kneeling before Christine.<p>

"Don't cry," she begged, her voice small from lack of use.

Christine looked at her as if she had grown a second head before her expression faded. "I simply don't understand and I… I suppose I'm hurt."

Camillé cocked her head to the side and dragged the girl to the bed with her, where they sat in the position that she had always sat – Christine was against the headboard and Camillé sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. When she had composed herself again, Christine began to speak.

"He wanted me for his own and he said that he loved me. I don't understand, if he was engaged to you and loved you, why would he come after me?"

Camillé looked at her in shock, her eyes becoming concerned. "What –" she coughed "– do you mean, come after you?"

Christine looked hesitant for a moment, then said, "This is a conversation for another time."

And with that, she left. Again. Camillé wondered what had transpired in the Opera Populaire now more than ever. Something had happened to the de Chagnys and Erik had something to do with it and she had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.

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><p>For the next week, she and Christine spoke few words to each other, but they did speak. Eventually, Christine must have told Raoul that she was speaking, because he came in and tried to talk to her, but she did not speak to him. Even the words she spoke to Christine were few and far between. When Philippe returned, he was informed that she was talking, but only a little. He tried to come in and talk to her, and though she was more responsive to him, she still didn't utter a word. Christine was rather confused as to why she would speak to her, but no one else. It wasn't until the end of the week that she found out.<p>

Camillé was in her room, and had called for both Raoul and Christine at the same time. Both came running, and she had them both sit in front of her. She looked them both square in the face. Christine could feel the question coming, but Raoul was unprepared for her to even talk.

"What, exactly, happened in the Opera House?" she asked, in a strong, clear voice that betrayed neither lack of use nor emotion.

They looked between each other and with a minute nod, Christine dove into the story. She explained all about how Erik had been giving her lessons, which Camillé admitted to already knowing. She described re-meeting Raoul and her first trip down to Erik's lair in perfect detail. Camillé took a short amount of time to tell her that she was indeed an idiot for taking Erik's mask off and that she ought to have left well enough alone – Raoul was surprised a) that she knew the Phantom's name, and b) that she was defending him, though Christine understood and told her that she knew it was a mistake. Afterward, they related the story of Il Muto, how Carlotta had lost her voice and begun to croak – which made Camillé laugh – and then Buquet had been hung, and how they had become engaged on the roof – which they related with little looks of love between them.

Christine then reminded her that they had come to her home in Mireval for Noël and then left for Paris to celebrate la Nouvelle Année, which apparently was a marvelous success until Erik showed up. He had been absent for a month, they said, not bothering anyone, and then suddenly showed up at the Bal Masqué dressed as the Red Death. He had given them an opera called Don Juan Triumphant, which they were to perform. They, of course, were frightened of him and agreed. Apparently Christine had been cast as Aminta, the leading role, which had really upset Carlotta. When Camillé laughed again, she explained that she knew the woman and she deserved it.

They moved on to the anniversary of the death of Gustave Daaé, Christine's father, when she had travelled to his grave as she did every year. They explained that Erik had tried to bewitch her and bring her in and Raoul had only _just _saved her, after which he and Erik got in a sword fight. Then Raoul explained that he and the managers had come up with a plan to catch the Phantom when Christine sang during Don Juan. Everything went according to plan until Erik showed up actually on stage with her, having killed Piangi and taken his place. Apparently they had sung a very promiscuous song together and then he had asked her to marry him, basically, on stage, and she tore off his mask. He had dropped them into a hole in the stage and Raoul told her that it was then that the chandelier fell and the Opera House began to burn.

Camillé gasped at this, then listened closely as Christine explained that she had been taken down to Erik's lair and he had told her that she was to spend an eternity with him. When she had told Camillé that he had forced her into a beautiful wedding dress, her eyes had filled with tears, but they moved straight on. Raoul explained that Madame Giry had led him down to the stairs down to the lair, where Camillé expressed her sympathy without thinking. He asked her how she knew they were so long and she simply told him she would explain it all later. They told her all about how Erik had forced Christine to choose between himself and Raoul, all while Raoul was hanging on the gate and a bunch of hunting opera members were coming to get them. She had kissed him, she said, and told him she would stay with him, but he had told them to leave. Right when they were about to, she had come back and given Erik her ring. Then he told her he loved her and she left. Raoul told Camillé that while they were riding away in the gondola, they had heard Erik's cries of anguish and how they'd heard him say that the Music of the Night was over.

Camillé looked down at her hands and a tear slipped from her eyes. Christine placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her, which Camillé accepted. Then she cleared her throat and told them everything. She told them about Wolfe, she told them about _Rabe_, she told them how she had moved in with him and they had fallen in love. How she had become engaged to him and about her feud with Madame Giry. She explained her past with Daniel and how she had left him. At which point, she explained that their engagement had been a ruse to get the suitors to leave her alone. She explained why and told them about her father's death and how he had left everything to her.

Christine and Raoul were shocked. Raoul was shocked that she loved the man he thought was pure evil and Christine was shocked about mostly all the rest of the story. Both were equally appalled about her background. They had not expected this high society woman that they had stayed with to have been a criminal and a killer and to have willingly done so. After everything else she had told them, her fake engagement to Daniel wasn't extremely surprising, but had she not explained everything else first, they would have been mortified. Finally, she opened the box for them and showed them all of her things from his lair. Christine remarked that she'd seen Erik reading the black book before and _Tristan and Iseult_ before, but had never let her touch the black one. She told Christine that it was her book of poems and she showed her the poems inside it. Several of her poems were about him, and Christine could see the parallels between her Angel of Music and the Erik Camillé had known.

The two women reached an understanding at that moment. For the rest of the time she stayed there, she and Christine grew quite close. They would constantly spend time together and Christine managed to coax Camillé out of her room and into a more regular life. She began eating more and began to realize that she would be okay. Still, it was difficult for both, seeing as they both grieved Erik. Christine was certain he was dead, but Camillé held onto the smallest hope that she would see him again. Perhaps if she weren't here, he would come to see her.

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><p>It had been three months since she had been found by the de Chagnys when Philippe came in and told her that Daniel was coming to collect her and take her back to Mireval. Her mind kicked into a panic when she realized that she didn't want to go back. That chapter of her life had finally been closed, she had finally moved past her time there. So, in the middle of the night, she left the de Chagny estate and began living on the streets. She returned to the name La Chatte Noire and began to utilize her skills again. Clients would hire her – if they could find her – and give her assignments to assassinate individuals and acquire things which were not her own. Camillé returned to her former glory very quickly, only a month after returning to the lifestyle.<p>

There was another figure in the dark places that was quite well-known. He had taken over in her three year absence, while she was living a life that she was beginning to resent. This rival's name was Clémor, from what she had heard, and he was well known for his habit of walking in through the front door – and killing everything in his path. Obviously, this guy was a lot like Wolfe – quite full of himself about it, too. She was apprehensive about meeting him, as he had made several threats to those who got in his way.

La Chatte Noire had been called into another assignment recently that she had a bad feeling about for some reason. She had been hired to kill a wealthy businessman who lived in an estate just outside of town. He'd gained more power than he ought to have had. And she had been called to take him out.

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><p><em>There are four chapters of the interim - what happened between the end of the last story and the beginning of this one. This is the explanation for what happened in the year since she found him gone from the lair. So yes, I'm making you wait to find out what happens after she slaps Erik.<em>

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to curse me for making you wait? Review or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


	3. The Interim Part II - Erik

**Chapter Two: The Interim Part II - Erik**

Erik dismounted from Caesar, looking up at the large estate. He hated the place – it was what had taken his Camillé away from him – but he had to get away from Paris as quickly as he could. He'd hoped that seeing her again would take his mind off of Christine. She had been the second woman to deny him, the second to leave him heartbroken… and yet he had still let her go. He had made the same mistake twice now, though he had sworn to himself he wouldn't. It seemed he was destined to be loved by no woman. It seemed he was destined to be alone.

He walked up to the back of the estate and quietly slipped into the place. No one was around and it was rather dark inside. Then he heard the servants talking about the _master _of the house – was Camillé no longer the mistress of it? They spoke amongst themselves about his fiancée having an affair with another man and then his allowing her to apologize. Erik couldn't believe this. Camillé, having an affair? That seemed impossible. She was monogamous, always! Except… she had never officially ended her relationship with him. In all technicality, her relationship with Daniel was an affair.

He found a place in the attic for himself to stay. Perhaps it would behoove him to find something to sleep on. Once he had located some bedding, he pulled from the inside of his suit jacket a bundle of papers. He opened them and looked down at the words on the page, at her poetry. He had her original version of _Réalité, _and of the songs he had written for her. He had placed a better written copy of No One Would Listen in her box, but he kept the original. Somehow, now he felt that it had been better this way. He looked over the words and his eyes filled with tears, sobs wracking his body.

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><p>Erik looked at his writings on one page that told him the timing. It had been a week and two days since he had burnt down his own home. He had arrived here a day ago, and she was not here. He wondered if she had gone off with Captain Merrick, as only a little girl called Marcella resided in the estate now. The servants had taken to talking about the couple that had left, surmising eventually that they had run off to Paris, though the only reason they could come up with was that they had gone there to elope. Erik frowned and brooded.<p>

They had run to Paris, to _his _city, to elope. As if they were rubbing it in his face that they were together and Camillé had left him for Captain Merrick, taking a normal man for her husband and not the hideous, deformed monster that had fallen in love with her. His heart broke more at the thought. He had truly loved her, she had been his everything. If she had asked, he would have jumped off of the roof of the Populaire to his death. He would have burnt all of his music, torn down his organ if she had but asked.

And now she was another man's wife.

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><p>The servants were all in an uproar, to Erik's delight. He had decided to inflict some pain upon them by haunting the de Sauveterre estate without reserve. They were now speaking of objects that rearranged themselves, of voices in corridors that had no body to speak them, of a dark shadow that moved in the empty rooms in the house, of the pianoforte playing itself in the middle of the night. The fools thought that the ghost of the late Monsieur de Sauveterre was haunting the house because of the things that his daughter had done there. Then they began speaking of the ghost of the man that killed a nursemaid and… attacked Camillé!<p>

Erik listened in rapt attention as they recounted and gossiped the events of the man's arrival. They talked of a nursemaid and a servant being killed, they spoke of everyone being so frightened that they could not move. Then they talked of how Camillé had come out of her room and hid Daniel and Marcella away and attacked him, though she was unarmed. He could see his beloved approaching the man and trying to defend what she loved. Then he heard something that made his blood run cold – that man was somebody named _Rabe_. Erik paled as he listened to a blow by blow account of the battle between them, feeling weak as he heard that _Rabe_ had stabbed Camillé and she had barely killed him before she passed out.

He leaned against the wall, breathless and he listened to them talking about how she was on bedrest for weeks afterwards. They believed now that _Rabe _was haunting the house. He returned to his attic space and thought long and hard about what he had just heard. Camillé had been attacked and she had saved their lives… but Captain Merrick hadn't been able to help her, he had just stood by and let Camillé attack him unarmed! Why she thought this man was good for her, he had no clue. But he did know that he was better for her than Erik was.

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><p>He had become sick of it. The constant talking of the elopement of Camillé and Captain Merrick was just revolting. He couldn't take it anymore. Erik made sure Caesar was ready to leave, tacked him up, and left Mireval. The long, five day ride to Paris seemed shorter for some reason and he arrived in the middle of the day. There, he was by the river next to the remains of the Opera House when someone stepped up beside him.<p>

"And here I thought you loved this place, old friend," the man jibed, and Erik chuckled.

He nodded. "I did, Nadir."

Nadir Khan looked back at the charred rubble and back to Erik. "You appear to have burnt down your own home."

Erik glanced over at Nadir with a look that asked if he was really dumb enough to say that. "Yes, it _appears_ that way, doesn't it?

He laughed and clapped Erik on the back. "Come, my friend, you shall stay with me."

Without a single word, he accepted.

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><p>The next few days were spent moving some of the things from the Opera House into Nadir's home in Paris. Erik had moved a few things, avoiding his bedroom so as to avoid the box of her things. Yet eventually he had to go in that room, so he steeled his bravado and went inside. The box was gone. He momentarily panicked and looked all over for it, but couldn't find it anywhere. It was as if the box had left by itself. And then he slapped himself upside the head. Camillé had obviously come to collect her things.<p>

_Or maybe_, a hopeful voice in the back of his head said,_ she came here looking for you._

He dismissed the voice immediately. She would not have come looking for him just before she eloped with a man he was now sure he despised. Once he had gotten everything out, he realized that he was missing one of his white half-masks. He searched everywhere for it, turned out everything in the lair looking for it. It was his favorite, it fit best. But it was gone. Oh well. The mob must have taken it as proof that they'd killed him. Which they hadn't, but the public didn't need to know that. And so, without further ado, he left his lair for the final time.

* * *

><p>Erik slaved over the song, playing his violin all the time to make sure he got the notes right and make sure it was just a beautiful as could be. He had spent far too long thinking of her, and thought perhaps if he wrote another song for her, it would go away. 'It' being whatever it was that was making him think constantly of Camillé.<p>

It took him weeks and weeks. The high notes were perfect, the low notes just low enough, and the background superb. Music had always been his passion and now he was using it for her, which seemed perfect. She was the only other passion in his life, even now that she was another man's wife. Come to think of it, they both were. He had heard of Christine's marriage to the fop and Camillé had eloped with her captain, he was sure of it, so he had lost both of his women to other men. Why was it always him?

This song was his obsession. It consumed his every moment, thought and action to the point that Nadir was beginning to worry. He had been working day in and day out, perfecting and writing and thinking. Mostly, thinking about her and where she was. Erik missed her, he wasn't going to lie. He had missed her even considering what had happened the last time he had seen her. His heart ached with longing to see her again, as if some part of him had been ripped out. The things that he had done to distract himself just weren't working anymore. Obviously, something needed to change. He needed to see her.

When he offered this suggestion up to Nadir, the man laughed. He informed him that trying to see her would mean going to find her – people. And from what he'd heard, she was quite the people person. In fact, she was currently living with the de Chagnys. _Wait. Repeat that. _

In fact, she was currently living with the de Chagnys.

Wait a minute, what? If she was living with the de Chagnys… she and Captain Merrick would have eloped and gone off somewhere together, not stayed with the fop, his older brother and… Christine. Camillé especially would not have gone to live anywhere near Christine. From what he remembered, her resemblance to Aletté was too similar. She would have refused. Was something wrong with his cat? Was she unable to make decisions on her own? What had happened to her?

While he was busy worrying about Camillé, he barely noticed his most recent visitor. A small, blue eyed Siamese cat wandered in and out of his room from time to time, getting petted by him and sleeping on his desk. Finally, after approximately three days, he registered Ayesha's presence in his bedroom. He smiled at the sight of the cat, remembering that she was the one little woman that never abandoned him. For the next week, he would play his violin and see Ayesha happily settle down and purr. He had missed his little kitten. Briefly, he recalled that she avoided the lair anytime Christine came around or he was busy thinking about her. Perhaps she was drawn to Camillé. He sat down on his bed, contemplating, and suddenly had a fuzzy bundle on his lap. He grinned and laid down with the cat, happy to be brought some comfort.

* * *

><p>Erik leaned against the wall on the inside of the building. Camillé was back on the streets again – which made no sense. If she had eloped with… obviously she hadn't. La Chatte Noire was becoming a large player in the underside of Paris, the darkness into which very few people would willingly step. Obviously she had decided her old life just wasn't the way to go. And now she was back. La Chatte Noire was taking the town by storm. He just hoped she wasn't being controlled.<p>

* * *

><p><em>I'm sorry, this is rather short, but I need to switch back to Camillé's perspective. Obviously, you will get more later, but I tried to stop them around the same time period. Less happens to Erik during this time than happens to Camillé.<em>

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to... I dunno, make a suggestion? Anyway, REVIEW or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


	4. The Interim Part III - Camillé

**Chapter Three: The Interim Part III - Camillé**

La Chatte Noire snuck around the back of the building, seeing the guards by the door. There was a back servant entrance, which she used. Her feet made no sound as she travelled through the halls, sticking to dark corners and deserted hallways. It was late in the evening, making it easier to hide. A servant came around into her hallway and began to walk in her direction. She flattened against the wall and when he came close enough, she reached out and grabbed him, pushing him to the wall and holding a hand over his mouth. His eyes were wide and she held a finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet. He was only a boy, maybe seventeen at the most. A scrawny thing, and she felt sorry for him.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she informed him, keeping her voice soft, "I'd hate to kill you, I just need some information. Now, I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth. I'm afraid that if you try to run or scream for help, I'll have to kill you. I really don't want to be caught, so it's not in my best interests to let you go if you try to run, just as it is in your best interests not to move or make a sound unless I ask you a question, got it?" the servant nodded slightly. "Good. I'm going to move my hand now, and you're not going to make a sound, right?" He nodded again and she slowly released his mouth. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, where are your master's rooms?"

The servant swallowed and looked around nervously. "Th-th-they're on the s-second floor," he said, and swallowed again, "right-t n-next to the" he took a deep breath, "b-bust of his f-father," he stuttered out.

"You're sure?" she asked, and he nodded, standing up a little straighter. She kissed the boy on the cheek. "Good man. Now, I'm going to go, and you're going to go back to work. You're not going to tell anybody about this, are you? Because I'm afraid that if you did, I would know and I would, again, have to kill you. I really don't want to kill you, you've got such a pretty face," she teased, stroking his right cheek softly, "And I'd hate for harm to come to it. You're not going to tell anybody about this, are you?"

The boy shook his head, both in fear and in what looked like blatant admiration of the woman in front of him. Definitely not a man yet, but certainly not a child either. She smiled a dazzling smile at him, bid him goodnight, and walked the other way. When she looked back over her shoulder, he was still staring after her, so she gave him a little wave and turned the corner. Then she smiled to herself as she followed the wall towards the stairs. She looked around when she entered the main hall and saw no one was near. La Chatte dashed up the stairwell, making it all the way to the top before someone entered the hallway. She saw it was the boy again, no doubt looking for her, which made her sigh. A brief look down at him caused her to see that he obviously liked her, as all the others she interrogated did. To the left of her, there was nothing in the hallway but a plant, yet in the right hallway, was… a bust of a man! That must have been the business man's father.

She silently entered the right hallway and walked down to the door next to the bust, carefully opening one of the double doors and slipping inside the room. Then she heard someone scream and it suddenly stop. Pounding feet came up the stairs and another person entered the room with a large bang. So much for her hope of secrecy. The gigantic red-haired man brandishing a gigantic, bloodied sword looked down at her and cocked his head to the side.

"Who the hell're you?" he demanded in English, an accent she thought she recognized as Scottish tinting his speech.

She scoffed and pointed at him. "It does not matter who I am, who are _you_?"

He smirked and stood to his full height. "I 'appen to be the Great Claymore."

La Chatte frowned. "You mean… _you _are Clémor?"

"Ye damn French," he huffed, "I keep tellin' ya, it's _Claymore_, not clamor or whatever it is ye keep callin' me."

"You are Claymore then?" she asked, pushing the two doors closed behind him as she caught her target awakening, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm 'ere to kill that man o'er there," he stated proudly as he walked to the other side of the room, causing the man on the bed to shoot up in alarm.

La Chatte crossed her arms and glanced at him. "I'm terribly sorry, but that happens to be my job as well. If you would like to kill him, though, be my guest."

Claymore sheathed his giant sword and gestured towards the man. "Oh, no, I could no' take a job from a woman. You kill 'im."

"No, really, if you have been asked to kill him, please do so."

"Ladies first," he smirked at her.

"I hardly count as a lady," she shot back at him.

"Ye're a woman, aren't ye?" she gave him the 'you really had to ask that' look and he grinned, "Then ye're a lady in my eyes. As I said, ladies first."

La Chatte looked over at her target, seeing his eyes open wide with fear and staring between the two. She could only imagine how interesting it must be to watch the two people who were sent to kill you arguing about who was going to actually finish the job. Just to spare the poor man his agony, she rolled her eyes and pulled out a knife, throwing it perfectly between the man's eyebrows. He was thrown back instantly onto his bed for his final sleep.

She turned back to see Claymore looking on with wide eyes. "Impressive," he remarked.

Her smirk was quite visible as she walked over to the man, placed one hand on the one side of his head and pulled her knife out with a sick sound. La Chatte traipsed over to the window and opened it, jumping out onto a tree. She heard Claymore yelling to wait as she easily came down the tree. Her feet had begun to pound the ground when she heard a large thump behind her and then thundering footsteps. Again, she heard Claymore yell for her to slow down, but she kept running all the way to the place where she was supposed to meet her contact. She told him it was done, got the money and left. When she reached her destination of her room in the inn, she turned around and saw that he had followed her.

"Ye left awful quick," he told her as he closed the door behind him, breathing hard, "I told ye to wait, why didn't ye?"

Camillé smiled at him, chuckling under her breath as she took off her bodice and laid it down, leaving herself unarmed. "If one is going to get away from a crime, particularly after the entrance _you _made, one has to do so very quickly."

"You seem ta know what ye're doin'."

"I've been part of this business for many years."

He leaned back against the wall and looked her over. "What's a pretty thing like yerself doin' as a criminal?"

"I chose this life. It was better than dying on the streets," she admitted, sitting down and unlacing her boots, looking at him standing there, "Do make yourself comfortable."

"Thank ye, I will," he accepted, unhooking his sword and hanging it against the wall. When he had removed his boots and she was getting down some wine, he walked over to one of her seats and sat down. "So who are ye?"

She smiled as she handed him a glass of wine and sat in the opposite chair, taking a sip of her own. "I suppose the name you're looking to hear is the one you likely already know," she teased, taking another sip, "I am La Chatte Noire."

His eyes widened. "_You _are La Chatte? Aye, I've heard o' ye," he confirmed, taking a sip of his wine, "Ne'er thought ye'd be a woman."

"Well, I am _La Chatte_," she reminded him with a grin, "That is, typically, a female name."

"In case ye hadn't noticed, I don't speak French."

She laughed. "I might have picked up on that, yes."

"So, lass… what would ye say to an alliance?" he asked out of the blue, and she was struck for a moment.

La Chatte set down her glass. "An alliance?"

"Yea, like a partnership o' sorts. Workin' together. What do ye say?"

"How exactly would this partnership work?"

* * *

><p>La Chatte came traipsing into the room, leaning against the desk as the gentleman gave details to Claymore. It was a simple enough task, kill a man and bring back one of his most prized belongings. They accepted and the man left. Camillé turned to her partner and sighed.<p>

"We've taken on too many jobs, Iaian," she told him.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. "Ye said yerself we need all the money we can get," he reminded her, and she scoffed, leaving the room. He followed her into the main room and grabbed her hand. "Ye can't tell me that ye're not glad we're so busy."

"I'm not upset about it, no," she agreed, taking her hand from his grip, "But we can't possibly hope to do all of this on our own."

"Then let's 'ire someone," he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, "I've got a few mates who owe me a favor or two."

She gave him a skeptical look. "If you really think that's going to work," she acquiesced.

He gave her an ecstatic grin. "Don't ye worry 'bout a thing, Cami," he told her as he grabbed his trench coat and turned to leave, "I'll get us the 'elp we need."

* * *

><p>Within a month, they were running the most successful crime syndicate in the entirety of France. They had chosen to name it the Crimson Dagger – locally, la Poignard Cramoisi – in honor of their first meeting. With it now five months since she had returned to Paris, Camillé had settled in quite nicely. Clients came to the syndicate and talked to their second-in-commands, whichever the crime applied to. La Chatte Noire and her second <em>Coquin<em> (Rogue), ran the thieving half of their business, while Claymore and his second Sabre, ran the assassinations and murder. It was a smoothly running machine, certain criminals coming and asking for a contract that made them an accessory to the syndicate for however long they were willing to join and the two heads giving them assignments.

In the middle of the fifth month, Claymore and La Chatte got into an explosive argument. No one knew what it was over, but it caused Claymore to attack his partner and La Chatte killed him in self-defense. Camillé would tell no one, but it had been over a supposed relationship forming between herself and her second. She was protective of him and he was the same to her. Iaian thought that it would weaken them both, making in turn the entirety of the Crimson Dagger to fall prey to other groups around town. _Coquin_ – who went to her by Marcien, his given name – had become like a brother to her. They were close – closer, apparently, than Iaian was comfortable with. It was true that their relationship breached the boundaries of professionalism, but they worked better together that way. The members of the Crimson Dagger knew that there had been issues between Claymore and Sabre, and it had caused problems in their half of the syndicate. However, La Chatte and _Coquin_'s half had always worked perfectly and smoothly.

After Claymore was dead, La Chatte took over the whole of the Crimson Dagger, keeping Sabre as her _other _second. He helped her run the side of things that was assassination related, while she had _Coquin_ dealing with theft and general robbery. In the end, she was the final authority on both, but for the most part, she let them handle themselves. They were very well organized and good at their jobs. La Chatte Noire took solo missions more often than not. A client would come in and say that their job was of the utmost importance, and they would send them to her office for her to deal with. If she refused to help them, it went to a lower lackey. Still, there were so many assignments she did take that she would always, inevitably, be busy for most of the day. This was the way it continued for the next seven months.

During those seven months, she thought a long time about Erik. She kept hoping that he would turn up and tell her that he was still alive, give her any sign at all. But he did not. Marcien began to become worried about her, as she would often zone out and be thinking about something else – which he later learned was some_one _else. They came up for a phrase for it – that she was either at the Opera or seeing an Opera. He continued to tell her that to think about him this often was ridiculous. After three months, she finally admitted to herself that Erik had to be dead. He would have contacted her by now if it were otherwise. Erik had died in the fire of le Populaire and she would never see him again. Marcien helped her through the initial grief of it. They worked together on helping her to live in the present and return to her assignments and work. Her episodes of zoning out stopped entirely.

It was one of her more irritating assignments that she was on now. She had been asked to murder someone who did not get out often, but was heavily guarded and always had company and it was proving to be quite difficult. La Chatte was getting more information from an informant of hers that she had paid to gain something for her, but she had been distracted. Marcien was worried that this would completely ruin her. If that man were still alive, everything she had been working towards for months would fall apart. But he was not going to question her. If she needed to see him, it was her decision, and he was not going to stand in her way. Much as he loved her, she was an independent person and did not need him to protect her all the time. She didn't really ever need him to protect her.

* * *

><p>Camillé stared at the man she had just slapped. "How <em>dare <em>you?"

"What?" he asked, seeming dazed.

She slapped him again. "You left me to believe that you were dead for a year – a _year_, Erik! What in the name of _Hell _were you thinking?"

He stood up straight again and he looked down at her. "I didn't think you wanted to see me."

La Chatte gave up trying to talk and tackled the man to the ground.

* * *

><p><em>So now we have caught up to the present! Yay! At least, on Camillé's side. Sure you're all wondering the same thing she is - What the Hell, Erik?<em>

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to get onto Erik for being away so long? REVIEW or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


	5. The Interim Part IV - Erik

**Chapter Four: The Interim Part IV - Erik**

Erik leaned back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind was awhirl with a million different thoughts, all of them centered on the woman he was still in love with. Ayesha jumped up on his lap and his hand started petting her, yet Erik never remembered telling it to do so in the first place. He was consumed by his thoughts, no longer paying attention to the world around him.

Camillé was back. She was in Paris, she was not married to Captain Merrick, and she was definitely doing well. And obviously had run away from Captain Merrick, because that particular man was conducting an investigation to find her. So, logically, Camillé did not actually love Daniel. It was as if the world was suddenly back to color after being black and white for so long.

His brain could not function properly for the next month. Nadir thought that someone had drugged the man or he was willingly taking drugs of some kind, because for the first time since he had known him, Erik was happy. He was perfectly, ecstatically, incandescently happy. When Nadir asked his housemate exactly _why _he had suddenly become such a bright person, Erik simply replied that the world was in color again, which only led his friend to believe that he really had been taking drugs. Obviously, he was not in his right mind at all. That may have been slightly true.

Erik worked constantly, writing new songs. He was humming and singing and _eating_ – which shocked Nadir quite completely. The timbre of his violin would ring throughout the house with a cheerful tune for hours on end. It was as if Erik had suddenly switched his demeanor completely. Nadir found he could actually hold a conversation with the man without him running back to the seclusion of his room within the first five minutes. He had even been allowed to venture into Erik's safe haven once or twice, and found the room covered – absolutely covered – with paintings. More specifically, paintings of a woman. At which point, Nadir sat Erik down and decided he needed to have a serious conversation with the man.

He explained everything. Not a word that came out of Erik's mouth was a lie, either, Nadir could somehow tell that he was being completely honest. Perhaps because he was literally glowing when he spoke, or perhaps because he was finally, for the first time in his life, willingly giving him information, or perhaps because he had seen the evidence of this in others before. As a result, when Erik told him that he was madly and completely in love with someone, Nadir found he had to be telling the truth. Of course, his logical next question was to ask whether or not this love was anything similar to his 'love' for Christine. The reaction he got from Erik was astounding.

Erik instantly shot down that assumption with a violent passion. He explained that not only was his love for this girl named Camillé real, but it was reciprocated as well – and not in the imagined way that he had thought Christine loved him. They had been engaged, he had told him, and to prove it, had shown him the wedding ring that he had intended to give Camillé. He conveniently forgot to mention her other lovers, and the entirety of her past, but assured Nadir that she was, indeed, real. When Nadir asked why she was not present when he was with Christine, he froze.

He explained that she had left him because her father had died. Thankfully, his friend became so consumed in other questions that he forgot to ask _why_, exactly, Erik had been pursuing Christine if he was engaged to and in love with Camillé. Erik feared he wouldn't have an answer for that question, and didn't particularly want to inform Nadir that his beloved had become engaged to someone else. Besides, he was fairly certain now that she did not love Captain Merrick and would therefore never have married him. Though… their kiss had been rather passionate. Erik shook his head, not wanting to think of that.

Camillé was the one he loved. Christine had been a distraction, just as she had been from the start, but Camillé was who his heart yearned for and who it would always yearn for. He loved her wholeheartedly. He had been a fool to believe that he could ever move on.

* * *

><p>Over that month, he nearly flitted about Nadir's home, but when the next month came, that light-hearted attitude was replaced with determination. He was determined to find her, determined to see her again and assure himself that he was not mistaken. He had to see his cat. Erik spent more time out-of-doors than he did in his room, searching about the back alleys of the city for news or information about La Chatte Noire. Eventually, he caught word that she was staying in an inn somewhere in the middle of town – a dangerous place for a criminal, but unlikely in the eyes of the law and therefore brilliant. When he arrived there, however, and asked about a Camillé de Sauveterre, he discovered that she had been there and had checked out a few days earlier. Her destination was unknown, though she had mentioned that she was staying in town.<p>

Erik spent the better part of a month, again, trying to locate her. It was harder now that she was not in such a public place. Obviously, she had caught wind that someone was looking for her and taken to the streets, where it was harder to find her. People would report that they had seen her, but never knew where she could be normally found.

During this second month of searching, he heard many stories of le Poignard Cramoisi, a new crime syndicate that was quickly overtaking the town. It took him sometime, but at the end of the second month, he finally heard that the leaders of the group had been in a fight and one of them had been killed. The next day brought him word of their surviving leader – La Chatte Noire. He was appalled. After the League, he had thought that Camillé would avoid all association with other criminals, since it never seemed to end well. Yet here she was, in control of the largest and most efficient crime syndicate in all of France.

It took him the better part of another month to find out where they were located. They kept their headquarters very well protected, and had led him on with several guild houses that held their members, but not their leader. Obviously, this was why the gens d'armes had never caught them. He was quite a sharp man, but somehow – most likely by Camillé's doing – they had managed to evade even him for quite some time. He could not imagine the gens d'armes _ever _finding them. Erik had snuck into their place of meeting and had seen for himself the running of the interior workings. There were two people who seemed to be in charge, but he could not, for the life of him, find Camillé.

* * *

><p>He returned the following day to a much quieter building and fewer criminals hanging around. The two who seemed to be in charge were still there, but he finally caught sight of her. Her clothes were the same he remembered meeting her in, and she looked exactly the same as he had first seen her when she killed Wolfe by his lair. His moment of memory held him for longer than he intended.<p>

A large group of criminals had entered the room and his Camillé was sitting at the head of the table, turning a knife over in her hands. Erik had to be proud of his woman for a moment, as she was distinctly threatening. Her voice was filled with confidence as she congratulated this particular group for their outstanding performance on their last mission – what mission she was talking about, he wondered at – and announced to them the parameters of their next objective. It soon became clear to him that this was a group of thieves. By the way she talked to them, she was familiar with each of them and they were with her. Though they treated her with naught but respect, they laughed at her witty humor and she teased certain members in particular without reserve. It was friendly and yet professional at the same time.

When the meeting had adjourned, he watched and followed at Camillé led both of the two men-in-charge into an office in the back of the building. She briefed them both on what had happened the day before – that explained it, she had been on a mission when he had come to see her – and asked how the meeting with the entirety of the Assassin's Guild had gone. One of them opened up their mouth and out came a torrent of complaints. The other was straight-faced, to the point that Camillé reached out and waved a hand in front of his face to see if he was still even awake. She addressed the impassive one as Sabre, and she asked him what he had thought, he gave a simple answer and she dismissed him. The other, however, stayed after he was gone and immediately began complaining again. Camillé laughed and told the man to be quiet about the meeting already, addressing _him _as _Coquin _and finally Marcien.

Then the two sat for a moment in silence. The one called Marcien finally spoke up and asked her the strangest question. He asked her if she had seen any operas lately. Erik wondered at this, as he had burnt down the only opera house in Paris over six months ago. When she replied to the negative, the man smiled.

"I'm glad, Camillé," he replied, leaning over and taking her hands in his, "You're doing better, and you're going to be fine."

"But I miss him, Marcien," she said softly, almost too soft for Erik to hear, "I miss him."

The man stood, walked around the table and pulled her into his arms. "I know you do, but you have to let him go. You have to move on. Forget about him. He would want you to move on with your life."

"How can I, though, when I still love him?"

"I will help you," he assured her, pulling away from her only far enough to kiss her on the forehead, "You know I will. We will get through this together, I promise you."

For a moment, both were silent, and Erik registered that Camillé was crying. He wanted to burst through the wall and hold her, tell her everything was going to be fine, but he wanted to wait until this man was gone for her to let her know that he was here. It was obvious to him that they were speaking about him. How they had mentioned that she was 'going to see an opera', wanting to move on but loving him… they were talking about Erik, and he knew it. It broke his heart that she would be trying to move on from him, but that would all end soon. He would tell her that he was alive and they would be together again. Granted, he was sure he would have some explaining to do about the burnt-down Opera Populaire, but he was sure that a lie would pass over fine. Somehow, he knew she would not respond well to knowing that he burned down their home in pursuit of another woman.

The man comforted her and they moved on to other topics and walked into the front room. There they walked around for a while before beginning to play a game of darts with the others. Camillé won – as everyone there knew she would – and she rejoiced in her victory. They did this for some time before the room began emptying of criminals and it was simply the first two, Camillé and Marcien. Erik watched as they leaned against each other in front of the fireplace, seeming content. And then he watched as they smiled at each other and Marcien leaned down to kiss her cheek and temple tenderly. Then he led her out of the room. At some point, Erik heard him make a joke and Camillé's beautiful, rare laugh ring in the rafters.

* * *

><p>When he returned to his bed that night, only one thing was running through Erik's mind. Camillé seemed… happy. True, she had been upset that particular day, but she had been comforted by an obviously caring friend and had returned to have fun with the others. He returned the next day to see Camillé rejoicing and playing around with more friends. The next day and the day after were the same. The more he watched her, the more he became convinced that she was happy again. The people around her understood her and accepted her, as well as respected her and admired her. She was not simply their commander, but she was their beloved leader. It was as if she was the Queen that all in her court served without question and swore their unwavering loyalty to until the day they perished. Camillé was in her element and worshipped by those she taught. His cat was happy.<p>

But what hurt for Erik to admit was that Camillé was happy… and she was happy _without_ him.

By the end of a week, Erik was convinced. His Camillé, the woman he loved without reserve and without limit, would be better off and happier if he did not return. She would not want to see him. Seeing him would change her entire life, make things very hard for her, and take her away from her success and her loyal friends. Seeing him would ruin the life she had made for herself. Because he loved her, he could not, in good conscience, take that from her. After everything she had been through, she deserved happiness. If that happiness was not with him, that was not an excuse to ruin it.

There was nothing he could do – she was better off without him, so he would stay away from her.

* * *

><p>The next months were hard for Erik. He avoided going out, he avoided speaking even to Nadir, and he locked himself away in his room, refusing to come out for any reason. Nadir instantly attributed this to having been rejected by the object of his affections, despite their previous connection, which he was honestly correct about. He attempted to cheer his gloomy friend, but to no avail. Erik simply would not cheer up. Nothing he would do would help.<p>

Erik stopped painting or drawing pictures of her, throwing out the ones he had. If he was going to get over her, seeing her constantly would not help. He tried to compose, but found it exceedingly difficult. Though he had not destroyed it, the song he had written for her was locked away in a chest, never to be opened again despite his own desires _or_ his housemate's prying eyes. Even Ayesha could not inspire him, could not help him, though she offered some small comfort. His kitten would purr until he was able to sleep. Yet the moment he closed his eyes, her face would haunt his dreams. Her touch would send him screaming awake, only to find himself very uncomfortable. He was obsessed with the idea of her, yet was trying to forget her.

Finally, Nadir had had enough. He forcefully pulled Erik out of his room of gloom and sat him down in the parlor, sitting down across from him.

"My friend, this needs to stop." Erik looked at him with a black expression, so he continued. "You have been destroying yourself pining over this girl. Every day you think of her, every night you say you dream of her, she is obviously haunting your mind! You cannot compose music; you cannot paint; you cannot even sing or play the violin! If she rejected you, you need to _let her go_!"

"She did not reject me."

"What?"

"She did not reject me," Erik repeated, looking him straight in the eyes.

Nadir scoffed. "Then what is the cause of this behavior?"

"She is better off without me."

"What do you mean?"

Erik sighed and placed his hands over his face. "Camillé is happy. If I were to come back into her life, that happiness would be ruined. Ergo, she is better off without me."

"Erik, you are my dearest friend, but you need to forget about yourself. You do not ruin people's lives, you do not destroy everything in your path, and you are not the place where all happiness comes to die unless it be your own! Ever you look, but do not see! Did she mention you at least once a day?" Erik nodded, unsure where this was going. "Did the mention of you make her upset or sadden her?" Erik nodded again. "Did she say that she misses you?" He nodded a third time. Nadir threw his hands up and stood up, beginning to pace.

"You are blind, my friend! She _loves _you, still! Your being away likely hurts her, if anything! This woman is pining for you, much as you are pining for her! She merely stows her sadness away because she is surrounded by those for whom she must appear strong and cannot show it to them. Your Camillé is still in love with you, and you are too blinded to see it. Her supposed happiness is a front, her real emotions are anything but happy!"

Erik looked up at Nadir skeptically. "And how do you know this?"

"Because I know women," he said, and sat back down, "You must see her. She would not wish for you to lock yourself away on false assumptions. If you see her and she still rejects you, then you may call me a fool and lock yourself in your room for all eternity and I will not blame you. But you cannot know exactly how she feels until you see her."

* * *

><p>It took another month of Erik being stubborn before he finally agreed to speak to Camillé. Even then, it was on the premise that Nadir accompany him and stand somewhere nearby while they met. Erik led Nadir to the headquarters of le Poignard Cramoisi. He stepped out of the shadows and handed a letter to a man that was entering the building and informed him to hand it to La Chatte Noire and <em>only <em>La Chatte Noire. Then he retreated to the shadows again and climbed with Nadir to the snowy roof, where they waited. It was some time before they heard the door open and there she stood, his beautiful woman, still wearing the cloak he had given her. He stepped up behind her and she turned around, showing her beautiful golden brown eyes.

* * *

><p>All the breath left Erik's body as Camillé pounced on top of him. She slapped him again and then attempted to punch him, but he caught her hand before it hit him. He caught the other hand on the way down and she head-butted him, causing him to drop her hands. Then he knocked on of the legs on his side, managing to get her to roll over, but she continued the roll until she was atop him again. He pulled her over his head as she reached to hit him, standing while she was bringing herself to her feet. She faced him and flew at him, thought this time he was able to block her attacks. Camillé drove him to the edge of the roof.<p>

"Please, Camillé, I am not going to hit you," he tried to reason with her, but she pushed him closer to the edge.

He looked over his shoulder momentarily at the long drop and looked back just in time for her to try to swing at him again. His hand flew out and caught her wrist, doing the same when the other hand attempted to hit him. They stood there in a stalemate for a moment, staring at each other – in Camillé's case, glaring. Then, as Camillé struggled to free her hands from his grip, Erik stepped forward, leaned down, and kissed her hard on the lips.

* * *

><p><em>Soooooo... we're back in the present now. <em>

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Rejoicing because we're done with all the 'splainin'? REVIEW or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


	6. Explanation

**Chapter Five: Explanation**

Camillé felt Erik's familiar kiss and the hard ice inside her melted. She relaxed her arms and wrapped them around his neck, letting Erik pick her up and walk away from the edge. They kissed passionately for another moment after he had set her down. When she finally pulled away, Erik rested his forehead against hers, reveling in the feeling of having his woman back in his arms. Camillé looked up into his eyes, looking down at her. Then they pulled away from each other just enough to look at each other without making themselves Cyclopes.

Camillé sighed, staring into his deep blue eyes. "Erik… I don't even know where to begin. There's so much I need to ask you, so much I need to know."

"Ask away, _Bien-Aimée,_" he mumbled at her, smiling.

"If you want... Erik, why did you burn down the Opera House?"

He was taken aback. "How did you know that?"

Camillé scoffed and pulled away from him. "I stayed for three months with the de Chagnys. To put it simply, Christine, Raoul and I had a little talk. I know everything except the one thing I am dying to know."

"And what is it you want to know?" Erik said in a low voice, suddenly very upset that she knew.

"Why did you go after her, Erik?" she hissed, looking livid, "Why did you pursue Christine? We were _engaged, _yet while I am gone you believe it to be acceptable to pursue Christine and claim to be in love with her? If you think that's acceptable, we need to work on your sense of morality."

He turned a glare upon her. "I could ask the same of you! Why did you become engaged to Captain Merrick? I don't ever recall calling off _our_ engagement, did you think that having an affair with him was going to be _alright_ with me?"

"Become engaged to Daniel? Wha – that was a ruse! You know that, I explained it in the letter I sent you. I asked him to pretend to be my fiancé so that I could throw off the suitors that were _actually _coming to court me, you know that! It was in my letter!" At Erik's sudden look of sheepish regret, she scowled. "You did _read _my letter, didn't you?"

Erik looked at the ground for a moment. "I… I may have burned it."

Camillé's face became blank and impassive. "You _burned_ it. What in the name of _Hell _would possess you to do that, you fool?"

"I had already seen the two of you together, I thought there was no more point in reading your letters if you were only going to lie to me," he mumbled, and she bristled.

"You _saw _us? How?"

He sighed. "I came to visit you sometime in November. I was missing you and I wanted to surprise you with a visit, then I saw you kissing him and saw you confess to someone that you loved him. I thought that you had been lying to me the entire time and that you had used me… I never thought for a moment that you had planned it to be a ruse. It was a convincing act."

"That explains an awful lot," she chuckled humorlessly, "But it doesn't explain why you went after Christine. Why, Erik? She was your pupil, not even a woman yet."

Erik walked up to her and took her hands in his. "I apologize for this, Camillé."

* * *

><p>He explained the story from the beginning. After she had left him in September, he had launched himself into his lessons with Christine to distract himself from missing her. He was drawing pictures of Camillé, painting her, writing songs for her. Erik would sit and read her book of poems to the point that he swore he had every single one memorized, and even read <em>Tristan and Iseult <em>a few times. Truly, he had been miserable without her. For the longest time, she was the only thing that consumed his thoughts aside from Christine and his music.

Then he had come to Mireval to visit her – he had wanted to see her so badly, he couldn't stand it anymore. There, he saw that she was with Captain Merrick. He had seen them kiss; heard her say that she loved him; watched him spin her around. Erik was heartbroken. When he returned to Paris, he had locked all of her things away in a trunk and promised himself that he would never speak of her again. For the longest time, he would see her around the lair, hear her, as if she were still there. She haunted his dreams and thoughts. He couldn't handle losing her, it was tearing him apart. Erik was caught between being miserably heartbroken and absolutely livid. When Madame Giry delivered her letters, he burnt them, until eventually they stopped coming. He thought that Camillé had lied to him, led him on.

About a week after he discovered Camillé's infidelity, he looked at Christine with a new light. The girl was beautiful. She revered him and loved him, appreciated his genius. In fact, she looked an awful lot like Camillé with curly hair. Instantly, Camillé was repulsed. He used Christine as a replacement for her. It was sickening. He explained that he had transferred his feelings for Camillé onto Christine, somehow becoming deluded and thinking that they were the two that were meant to be.

On the night of her big debut, she had been visited by a fop that he recognized from when he had seen Captain Merrick and Camillé together, which instantly made him hate the boy. Camillé suddenly gasped – Raoul. He had become angered that another man was pursuing _his _Christine. Erik was not about to let another man steal away his woman a second time. He had stolen Christine from the Prima Donna's dressing room and taken her down to the lair. Here, Erik gained a guilty expression as he explained that he had sung their engagement song to her to seduce her, hoping that Christine would accept being his bride as Camillé had. She had fainted and he had led her to Camillé's old bed. This entire situation made Camillé want to throw up.

Erik walked away from her as he explained that when Christine had awoken, she had touched him just as Camillé used to, running her fingers though his hair and stroking his face. He had been so taken by her touch that she had managed to pull off his mask. Erik had panicked and knocked her to the ground, frightening her as he cursed at her. He had been so reminded of the other people who had seen his face that he was instantly pulled out of his own mind and into the present. Being that he was still deluded that she would be the new Camillé, he had insisted that she would love him also, see the man behind the mask and the monstrous deformity it hid. He knew now that he was wrong.

During the production of _Il Muto_, he had wanted Christine to play the Countess, which was a perfect casting in his opinion. When they had defied him and cast La Carlotta as the part anyway, he had switched her throat spray and given her a hideous croak. Camillé fought to stifle a laugh at Erik's antics, remembering that she was supposed to be very mad at this man. That was supposed to be the extent of his interference, as he was now getting what he wanted, but alas, he had been seen by Joseph Buquet, the stage hand. The man had pursued him, at which point Erik found he had no choice but to get him out of the way. They were performing the ballet down below. He was so focused on the threat of Buquet that he forgot this entirely, and hung him in the middle of the stage in front of everyone. The entire theatre was consumed in a scream while the managers tried to calm everyone down.

Erik instantly saw what he had done and escaped to the roof to clear his mind. He had often come there when he was stressed, as it calmed him with seeming to have her presence there. Then he heard the door open and saw Christine and the fop come out onto the roof, seeming very frightened. Erik listened as Christine exclaimed how frightened she was, and the Viscomte continually insisted that the Phantom was not real. His heart cracked as he heard Christine explain how hideous his deformity was. It broke and shattered as he listened to the two confess their love for each other and promise to be with each other always. Erik was reminded that he had thought no one could love the deformed monster that he was – even Camillé had left him for someone with a normal face. He would never be loved.

* * *

><p>Camillé stopped his speech and pulled him into her arms. "<em>I<em> love you, Erik. _J'ai t'aime toujours, et je t'aimerais toujours_ (I have loved you always, and I will love you always). _I _love_ you_. Not Daniel; not Samuel; not Philippe; not anyone else; only _you_. I would never leave you for anyone," she confessed quietly, holding back a sob.

Erik felt his heart beat again and he held her close. "Thank you, Camillé," he breathed, inhaling the scent of her that he loved so much as a tear rolled down his cheek. "You mean the world to me."

* * *

><p>He delved back into his explanation. After Christine and the Viscomte had gone back inside, he had collapsed to his knees sobbing. All of his heartbreak – Christine and Camillé – came rushing into him at once. He sat there for a long time, hearing their love confessions echo in his mind. And then he said that he snapped. Erik stood and the Phantom cursed them both. But he knew that he was not going to lose his woman so easily a second time. Then he returned to his lair and disappeared. The managers did not hear from him, Madame Giry was cast from his home, he let <em>no one <em>in. Christine had left with her beloved Viscomte, but Erik barely noticed. He was busy working on an opera.

It was called _Don Juan Triumphant_, named after the infamous man of the same name. The plot was derived from the caricature of Don Juan as well. It followed the story of Aminta, a young slave girl who stole from her master. He found out and planned his revenge against the beautiful girl. She had been falling in love with his right-hand man, so he played it off like he was that man and planned to take her in the sexual sense. Camillé raised an eyebrow for a moment and asked where this plot had come from, which Erik refused to answer at first. Eventually, he told her that he had already written a song that fit the plot and it just kind of came to him. Being the wonderfully curious person that she was, Camillé then asked about the song. He informed her that he would tell her later – in a more private place. Her eyes widened slightly and she stopped interrupting him.

On New Year's Eve, he had attended the _Bal Masqué _as the Red Death. It was then that he made his first public appearance as the Phantom. Erik had given them Don Juan Triumphant and informed them of a few problems. He had asked Christine to come back to him, then noticed an engagement ring around her neck. He had a flash of Camillé with another man's ring and became enraged, taking the necklace from her and disappearing. The Viscomte foolishly tried to follow him, but he merely taunted the man for a while until Madame Giry came and told him to stop, leading the poor man out.

For the next month, he had been in control of _le Maison d'Opera_, controlling casting and rehearsals. He ensured everything was going to go smoothly for his plan. When she asked what plan that was, he refused to tell her. Christine had at first refused to play Aminta, which had been written for her, but the fop had managed to convince her, thinking that they could use it to capture him. _He had no idea_, Erik chuckled. The boy had just declared war.

On the anniversary of her father's death, Christine had gone to his grave as usual. Since he didn't really want to ruin his own opera, he had devised another plan to get Christine beforehand. Again, Camillé inquired to this plan he talked about, beginning to come to her own conclusions, and again he refused to tell her anything. He played the part of her Angel of Music again, pretending to be her father, and had again lured her in, but the Viscomte arrived and ruined his plans. At which point, Erik jumped out and got into a sword fight with the fop. He had managed to injure him in the arm, but the boy managed eventually to get him on his back. Erik was sure that the fop would kill him, but Christine had spared his life. Afterward, he was forced to return to his original plan.

The opening night of _Don Juan_ came quite quickly, and Erik put his plan in action. He switched around the ropes that held the chandelier and the ropes that they used to attach stage props. Then he assembled his outfit. It was close to the actual performance, and he set fire to his own stage miniature. He waited until a while into the opera, hiding in the rafters. When Piangi – who had been cast as Don Juan – came backstage just before the song _Past the Point of No Return_, he pounced upon him and killed the man. Camillé gasped as he explained that he took his place on the stage. She looked at him and shook her head, declaring such a thing impossible. He chuckled and explained that he hadn't cared about the differences.

They had sung the passionate song together, Erik pulling Christine into his spell once more. He had signaled her to be silent about his presence, but he knew that she had alerted the Viscomte and the _gens d'armes_. It was not as if it would do them any good – they could not shoot him on stage for fear of hitting Christine. At the end of the song, he had asked Christine to be his, to spend her life with him, using the same words as she and her fiancé had used for their confessions on the roof. Then she had pulled his mask from him in public. Camillé gaped at him, and he explained that he had been filled with rage at the screams of the audience. He pulled his sword from his hip and cut the rope that held the bridge they were standing on – he took a moment to explain the set to her – causing the two to fall along with the chandelier.

They fell into a hole in the stage and he dragged Christine back down to the lair, where he admitted with a downcast face that he had forced her into the wedding dress intended for Camillé. It had fit her perfectly, and she was beautiful. He had revealed the part of his mother's neglect to Christine hoping to make her understand that he was never loved in his life, but she confessed to him that he had a deformed and mangled soul. The Viscomte had arrived just in time to see her fully outfitted in the wedding dress. When he had demanded to see her, Erik had allowed her to stand before him. Then he had put a noose around the fop's neck, tying him to the portcullis that separated the lair from the lake.

He offered Christine a choice, as he wasn't going to lose his love again, particularly to another man who didn't deserve her. Erik had told her that he was either going to have her forever and her beloved Viscomte would go free, or she could choose not to be with him, he would let her go but kill the boy. Camillé looked shocked, and he tried to explain that he had truly become the Phantom by this point, devoid of reason. She shook her head and looked at the ground, telling him to continue his story. He worried, but continued. Christine had exclaimed while they were all shouting that she hated him. It had hurt, he admitted, but only made him more determined to have her, sure that she was lying because the fop was there. The Viscomte had been begging her to forgive him for not being able to save her, because if she said that she had loved Erik, the boy's life was over. Christine had spurned Erik completely in her words, but had not given them her answer yet. He demanded it from her and she had walked into the lake.

Then she kissed him. He had not expected her to choose him, and it was when she kissed him that he realized two things – that she loved the Viscomte enough to throw away her life to save him… and that Erik didn't love her. The kiss had held nothing for him. No spark, no feeling, no love. It was merely a kiss. Everything that Erik had done to this poor girl on the pretense that he loved her, having convinced himself that he did… he had ruined his poor Christine's life, all for nothing. He had lost the only woman he truly loved, and after this, he had lost her forever. Erik heard the mob that was coming to get him, and let Christine and the Viscomte go. He didn't want to hold her here if he did not love her. He would only be lying to them both and they needed to leave before the crazed mob found them.

He sat for a while, thinking about Camillé and how he had loved her. How he had lost her. Erik sat and listened to his music box and cried. His beloved Camillé was lost to him, and he had ruined Christine's life. She came back for a moment, giving him her engagement ring, and he apologized. He looked at the ring after she had gone to be with her fiancé. It reminded him of his own fiancée, making him begin to cry anew. His heart filled with sorrow at having lost Camillé and he declared aloud that the Music of the Night was over, as the one who helped him make it was gone – and had been for the longest time. Erik, in a sobbing rage, had broken all of the mirrors in their home before breaking the one that led to the surface and leaving. He took Caesar and fled.

* * *

><p>Camillé stood there for a long time, merely absorbing what he had told her. Then she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, shaking her head. "Erik…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say.<p>

He hung his head. "I know. I am so sorry, Camillé," he whispered, and looked up at her with sad eyes. "Is there any way you can ever forgive me?"

"I…" she started, but was lost for words. She started towards the door to the inside, opening it and standing there. "I don't know I can." Camillé entered the building and closed the door behind her.

* * *

><p><em>I<em>_ think I'm going to cry... _

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Stunned by Erik's explanation? Repulsed as Camillé was? REVIEW or drop me a line._

_- Emmy_


	7. Together at Last

**Chapter Six: Together at Last**

Erik stood for a long moment. Nadir walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, seeing the dejected and horrified look on his friend's face. When the former Opera Ghost looked over at him with a desperate expression, he simply gestured to the door to the inside. Erik seemed to comprehend well enough, flying to the door and wrenching it open. He tore down the stairs and into the main room of the headquarters. He had watched her often enough to know that she had a room in the back of the place, where he immediately went. A hand on his arm stopped him with surprising strength. Erik wheeled around to see the man she had been spending most of her time with since she had hired him as her second all those months ago standing before him with a grim expression.

"_You _are the one she has been missing for so long?" he asked, to which Erik could only nod.

Marcien pulled back his fist and punched him. Hard, in the nose. He heard it break and Marcien almost smiled, watching it bleed. Were it not for the fact that Camillé had come back into headquarters _crying_, the second never would have dared to lay a hand on the larger, much more intimidating character. She wouldn't have wanted him to anyway, angry with this guy or not. The woman that Marcien regarded as his adopted sister was the one person he never dared to cross. He knew she was dangerous, but more importantly, she meant the world to him. Her happiness and safety were paramount. When she was angry with him, he never lasted long before apologizing and groveling for her forgiveness. Though she often told him he needed to grow up – which always made them both laugh – he knew that she appreciated the gesture.

Once he had located his misplaced mask, Erik got up off the floor slowly, keeping his senses on the boy – no, no, this was a _man_ – the man behind him. He had not been expecting the second's presence, and he had taken him by surprise. _Coquin _was certainly full of them, it seemed. Camillé came rushing out of her room, having heard the commotion, and stared at Erik for a moment. Then her eyes travelled to Marcien behind him, who she gave a warning look to before dragging Erik in the direction of her office, making sure he could hide his face. There she sat him on her desk and told him to sit still. She retrieved her medical supplies from the drawer of her desk and came in front of him, glaring at him.

"Camillé –"

She held a hand up, silently signaling for him to be quiet. He instantly shut his mouth and looked at her warily while she worked. Though she looked much the same as his beloved fiancée, there had been quite a few obvious changes. She had slimmed again, fitting into the old bodice that he remembered. In fact, she seemed even smaller then when he had met her. From his vantage point in the wall, he had seen that she had become thinner, but not the extent of it. This was not healthy for her. Her hair was longer, down the small of her back, but it had lost its shine. His lover was paler than he remembered, almost to the point of being as pale as he was. Her eyes were sunken in and ringed with dark circles, betraying her lack of sleep. Camillé looked at him and he gazed into her eyes, finding no sign of the golden flecks he loved. They were dead and brown, almost black in color. He frowned at her, causing her to turn away from him.

Erik looked at the floor, thinking about the other changes that had happened. His place as her protector and her confidante had been taken by the character of _Coquin_, he had known that since he watched them become closer. His Camillé had been kind and soft, caring and loving, offset by _La Chatte Noire_; cold, calculating, and judgmental. The Camillé before him was a mixture of the two, apparently having embraced her other side. She was kind to those who deserved it, but cold and judgmental before her trust was earned. Her calculation and ability to make decisions based on the strengths of her comrades was astounding and came in very handy in her position. Often, she was very logical and less compassionate. That side of her still existed, which was why her workers stayed with _Le Poignard _for so long. She was known for being kind once they had worked their way into her good graces – which took doing.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he was taken by surprise when suddenly, pain shot through his nose and into the front of his head. Erik reeled, earning him a hit on the arm from Camillé, who was trying to staunch the blood enough to brace his nose. It took her some time for that to happen, at which point she cleaned up his face. Then she cleared her medical supplies and walked out of the room. Erik reached out to grab her arm, but she pulled it out of his grasp harshly. Her second noticed this and his eyes narrowed.

"You will do well to remember that broken nose you've got," Marcien threatened, "because if you _ever _go near her again, I will see to it more than your nose is broken, monsieur."

Erik swallowed. "I mean her no harm. I only wish to –"

"I do not care whether you _mean_ her harm or not – the harm has already been done. For months, I have been tirelessly working to allow her a few moments peace from _your _memory, from the thought that you were dead, and now you decide to show up? After more than a year, you decide to jump back into her life, and you think I will allow that? No, monsieur, you are not allowed near her. I fear you have already undone _all _the progress she has made. I must ask you to leave," he concluded, glaring at Erik sternly.

He steeled his bravado against this surprisingly intimidating brotherly character and stood up straight. "I am not going to leave until I speak to Camillé."

"I believe you are."

"Then we are of differing opinions on this subject."

"It appears so."

"You will allow me to see her."

"Over my dead body."

"You really do not want to say that, monsieur."

"Oh, I believe I do, monsieur."

"I will kill you if you keep me from the woman I love."

"Funny way to show love, killing her adopted brother."

"You infuriate me."

"The feeling is entirely mutual."

"You seem awfully calm."

"I am calm, yes. You appear awfully restless."

"The woman I love and have not seen in a year is standing in the other room. Now why do you think I am restless?"

"Another odd way to show love, making your lover think you're dead."

"You are testing my patience, boy."

"I am not a boy, and I assure you, I have enough patience for both of us."

"If you are not a boy, then why are you acting like one?"

"Now _that _was immature."

"I will admit to that."

"Good. Then we have reached an understanding."

"We have. You will let me see Camillé now, agreed?"

"Disagreed. What makes you think she wants to see you, anyway?"

"She does… even though her mind is screaming at her to send him away."

Both of the men started and saw Camillé in her pirate shirt and leggings, bare aside from those and with her hair down. She was leaning against the doorframe in front of her bedroom, her arms crossed and her head down. Marcien looked her over and went straight over to her, while Erik respectfully – and forcibly – kept his distance.

Marcien scoffed and whispered, "This man ruined your life, Camillé! How could you possibly want to see him?"

"I know that. But the fact remains that I still love him, and nothing can change that, efforts be damned. I at least need to talk to him."

"I thought you already talked."

"We did… sort of. I mostly let him do the talking and formed my own conclusions, which I failed to share. He and I need to really talk about this," she sighed, placing her hand on his arm, "I know what I'm doing, 'Cien. Please trust me."

"I always trust you, Cam. It's him I cannot trust. He hurt you and I cannot sit by and idly watch if he hurts you again. Even his mere presence here makes me angry," he admitted.

Camillé chuckled. "Spoken like a true brother," she teased, poking his chest, "Now step aside and let him in. Don't worry – if we get into an argument, I shall see to it he is put in his place."

"Fine. But if he tries to hurt you, that man will not leave this building alive," he promised, his eyes showing his sincerity.

She kissed his cheek and waved him off. Marcien walked past Erik, bumping his shoulder purposefully as he did so. When Erik turned to look at him, he told him that he was watching the dark man. Something about the look in his eyes made Erik unnerved, but Camillé's touch on his arm took everything from his mind. He turned back to her and let her lead him into her room.

It was dark in her bedchamber, and eerily familiar. There was a full-length mirror against the wall next to a black armoire, and the bed was covered in soft, dark red velvet sheets. The black chest he had placed her belongings in sat at the end of the bed. It was open, and he saw that the song he had written for her and his old mask were at the top of the pile. The cloak he had gotten for her was hanging on the wall. He smiled at the sight of it, before his eyes turned to her.

Camillé was sitting on the bed, cross-legged and waiting. Slowly, almost as if he expected her to bolt or attack him, he untied his cloak and hung it beside hers. Next came his cravat and his suit-jacket. He wanted to take off his vest too, but felt as if that was a little bit too much. Erik removed his shoes, remembering her rule about not having shoes on the bed. He sat down across from her, warily watching her reactions. She was perfectly immobile until he was settled. Then her eyes met his and she shook her head at him.

"Why, Erik?"

He sighed. "I told you, I took to Christine beca–"

"I didn't mean Christine. I don't want to hear any more about Christine Daaé," she informed him in a clipped tone, softening after he winced, "Why did you stay away so long? We could have had this conversation months ago."

"I thought you were better off without me."

Camillé laughed, a sharp sound. "Better off without you? How could I _ever _be better off without you?"

"I watched you. You were happy, _Bien-Aimée_, and I thought that if I came back, I would ruin that happiness."

"First off, you were watching me this whole time?" He nodded. "That's slightly unnerving, Erik." The former Opera Ghost shrugged and looked at the ground. "And secondly, you obviously weren't watching closely enough. I put on a happy face for _La Poignard, _but I was not happy. I am miserable without you, _mon amour._"

Erik looked up at her and saw the truth in her eyes. "That is what Nadir tried to tell me, but –"

"Nadir?"

"He is my… friend, Nadir Khan. He is the one that you have to thank for my presence. I would never have come if he had not convinced me," he admitted sheepishly.

She scoffed and grinned mischievously. "I shall have to meet this Monsieur Khan, then. I must thank him for bringing forth my cowardly lov–"

Erik pounced upon her and hovered over her. "I am _not _a _coward_," he murmured, his eyes travelling to her lips of their own accord.

"If that is what you think," she teased. There was a long moment of silence. "_Mon Dieu_, Erik, either stop staring at my lips or kiss me."

He was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

><p>Camillé lay on her bed, her head resting on her lover's chest. Their breathing was beginning to stabilize after their – was it the third or fourth? – <em>copious<em> rounds of lovemaking. It felt both calmingly normal and ecstatically wonderful to be back in Erik's arms again, to be with him again. In over a year, this was the most peaceful she had ever felt. He was stroking her hair gently, nearly putting her to sleep with his soft touch.

"I have waited so long for this, _Bien-Aimée_, and missed it so very much," Erik whispered, not wanting to disturb the post-coital bliss they were in.

Camillé let out a breath in replacement of a laugh. "Which? The laying together, or the –"

"Both," he interrupted her, kissing the top of her head as his fingers trailed down her side to rest on her bare waist, "But more so the laying together as we are."

"I've missed it too," she admitted, taking a deep breath as she relaxed, "I _am_ still angry with you, you know."

He chuckled lightly, giving her another kiss on the top of the head. "I would expect nothing less from you, _ma chatte_."

"You are in major trouble, Destler," she scolded, leaning up to look at him.

"I know," he grinned, giving her a kiss on the lips. "_Je t'aime_, Camillé de Sauveterre."

Her expression softened and she smiled gently. "_Je t'aime aussi_."

* * *

><p><em>I am so sorry for the length of time that I have been gone. I have had no time to write between filming and home chores, and now I am in school. I will try to write whenever I can, but I am afraid it will not happen often. I am blessed to have had this much time to write this chapter for you guys, and I'm sorry it's so short. <em>

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Glad they are back together(mostly)? REVIEW or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_

_EDIT: Wow... I feel dumb. Thank you to nibblesfan for reminding me that broken noses BLEED. Why did I not include the cleaning scene? Seriously, me?_


	8. Sooner or Later

**Chapter Seven: Sooner or Later**

Erik awoke alone in his lover's bed. He sat up and looked about the room, seeing her nowhere. Where could his cat have gone? Gently, he placed his feet on the ground and got up. His breeches were across the room, which he picked up and tugged up quickly. He shrugged on his shirt and walked into the adjacent washroom. The water he splashed on his face was cool and worked well to wake him up. For a moment, he eyed the bath and wondered whether or not he should bathe. After deciding that he would drag Camillé into a bath with him later, he exited the washroom and sat on the bed to tug on his stockings and boots. He was about to leave the room when he remembered to turn and grab his mask. A sharp stab of pain came through his nose when he put it on the normal way and he suddenly remembered having his nose broken by _Coquin _the night before. The man had strength behind his punches, that much he was certain of. Erik silently left her chambers and walked silently into the main room. She was not there either. The assorted group of criminals that were laughing together and drinking despite the early hour did not register his presence as he slipped past up into Camillé's office.

Camillé looked up past Sabre to Erik as he quietly entered the room. It almost made her smile – his hair was messed up and he looked thoroughly well-rested and almost happy. She gestured to the side of the room with her eyes and he slipped into the shadows without so much as a nod. Within a split second, her eyes were back on Sabre's, sternly glaring.

"If you do not appreciate the way I am handling _my _guild, then you have the option to leave, Sabre," she said in a level voice, not letting him see her anger, "I won't hold you here against your will."

He bristled. "Perhaps I will leave," he spat in disgust, "There are other places I could go."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I wish you would reconsider. You are the best at what you do, that's why you're here. I trust you to handle your half of our people more than I would trust anyone else. Please reconsider."

"Why should I? What's in it for me?"

"What do you want to be in it for you?" she asked simply.

He scowled and paced. "I don't know, what am I supposed to want? Fortune, fame, property, freedom, happiness… _Merde_, _Chatte_, I don't know!"

Camillé frowned and stood up, coming around the desk. "Sabre, what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on, I just want out of here!" he shouted, backing away from her with a hand on the pistol at his side.

She froze, looking at him warily. "I'm not stopping you… no one is. Why are you still here if you want out so badly?"

"Because… because..." he looked pained, as if he had been punched in the gut and told there was a death in the family, "I don't know! Nothing's keeping me here! I'm gone!" he yelled, turning and running down the stairs from her office.

Camillé rushed to the landing beside her office and watched him leave. He pushed past several people on his way out, almost starting a fight before he was gone. She frowned at the door as it swung closed behind him. Marcien stared at it for a moment before looking up at her and raising an eyebrow. He mounted the stairs two at a time and marched after her back into her office. Erik, by this time, had taken his seat in her extra chair next to the bookshelf. Camillé leaned against her desk and Marcien came up behind her, rubbing one of her shoulders. Her head was in her hands, her thumbs kneading her temples.

"What happened, Cam?" he asked in a soothing voice.

She shook her head, hands dropping to her sides. "I don't know, 'Cien. One minute we were having a simple, honest conversation about a few issues he had with the way I was running things and then all of a sudden, he just went mad. Something's bothering him, I could tell. Something's wrong, but he wouldn't talk to me."

He nodded, pulling her into a hug and resting her head under his chin. "Sabre has never been the most friendly or the most open. You're lucky he came to share issues with you at all. Whatever he's dealing with, he'll figure it out. He's smart enough to deal on his own."

"I know… but whatever it is, it's got him stressed, and that isn't normal. Can you ever remember Sabre being stressed about anything?" she asked, pulling away to look at him.

"No," he agreed, shaking his head softly, "I wonder what it is…" he mused, then shook his head and shrugged. "But he'll deal with it. When he's got it figured out, I've no doubt he'll return."

Camillé sighed and leaned her head into his chest. "You're right. I worry too much."

"Better than not worrying at all."

After a minute, Marcien let go and kissed the top of her head before returning downstairs with a brief nod to Erik. Camillé looked over at him with a tiny smile. Erik stood and opened his arms taking a step towards her and meeting her halfway. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. After a moment, she turned her head to the side and laid it over his heart, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"You still smell like you," she whispered, a gentle smile settling over her face.

He chuckled, a deep sound she could feel all the way to her toes. "And what is that?"

She breathed in deeply and sighed contentedly. "Candles, parchment, ink… sometimes you smell like roses… and then there's that part that just smells like you. Just… you."

"Just me, hmm?" he mused, then kissed her head softly. "And what does that smell like?"

"I am going to sound crazy for saying this," she chuckled as she pulled her head away and looked up at him.

He leaned down and kissed her on the lips gently, lingering for just a moment. "I shall take no notice."

She grinned, leaning her head against him again. "You smell warm… and comforting… and sometimes arousing… and it's incredibly intoxicating," she giggled, then took a deep breath, "And my favorite scent in the whole world. It's you."

"Come now… I cannot possibly be your favorite scent, _Bien-Aimée_," he smiled, running his hand up and down her back.

"But you are. Most certainly."

* * *

><p>Three weeks had passed. Erik had been staying in La Poignard with Camillé, occasionally keeping Nadir abreast of recent happenings. After Sabre's sudden desertion, the entirety of the murder syndicate had been rearranged. The new second was a man called <em>Sangre, <em>someone Camillé had appointed merely because Sabre had spoken well of him once. Anyone Sabre actually took the time to compliment was obviously very good at their job. The similarity of the names confused everyone for a while – both Camillé and Marcien had difficulty at first, calling _Sangre "_Sabre" from time to time. He was much friendlier than his predecessor, actually willing to speak to people as opposed to sitting silently in the background sneakily observing. The members of his half of the guild were actually able to speak to him and were not intimidated by him, or thinking every moment that he might kill them if they mispronounced his name. After the second week, he had settled into his new role wonderfully.

Camillé came down the stairs slowly, stopping halfway down them. "What the Hell is going on here?"

Hans, Jamison, and Kanto all looked up at her, freezing in place where they were. They were the three that had instigated the brawl, and knew that even if they tried to run, Camillé would know it was them and La Chatte would hunt them down and make them regret their fighting ways. The rest of the assembled drinkers and brawlers all stood behind the main three. Camillé's people were well aware that if _any _of them were to try to leave the room, there would be no escape for them – she would get to them before they got to the door. Deliberately, she descended the rest of the stairs at the slowest pace she could. Erik, who was watching her from the doorway of her office, was struck by the similarity between her coming down the stairs and the same he did at the Masquerade back in January.

"Is there a problem, _messieurs_?" she asked, in her smoothest voice.

The three men all shook their heads. "No, mam'selle."

She stared them down for a moment, causing the men to cower. They knew who she was, and did not want to cross her. "_Bien_. Let's see to it that it stays that way, _oui_?"

The three nodded and turned away from her, stalking back to their separate rooms sullenly, like guilty children who had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Camillé chuckled at their demeanor and sat down on a crate next to one of the men. Her employees were all sitting around the central fire in the room, on crates and chairs and even the floor. One of the newer men got up and offered her his chair, but she shook her head and motioned for him to sit down. He did, looking reluctant to let their leader sit on something so uncomfortable as a crate. The woman reached out for one of the bottles that was being passed around and took a large swig of it. Those who had seen her drinking with the men before were not surprised, merely smiled when they realized that they had their leader as a friend for the night. The few that were surprised watched in awe as she took another swig and handed it off to the next person who asked for it.

Erik watched from above, silently, as her people began to relax. It was an interesting strategy she was employing – following semi-disciplinary action with relaxing alongside those who were as guilty in their own minds as the three she had warned with veiled threats. They could see because of this that she wasn't cruel, or mean, or even really strict. She was a friend to them as much as she was their employer. He smiled as they started up a card game down below. She was very good at cards and tended to win when she played. Of course, the point of the game was not to win. Not for her. No, the aim of the game for her was to bond with her men. The trust she built with them was the key, he realized, to the operation she ran here. There were enough lackeys here that if they were to revolt against her, she was doomed to perish. Even with Marcien and _Sangre _by her side, they would never stand a chance. It was imperative that she keep her employees' trust and friendship.

"It's strange to see her so relaxed with them, isn't it?"

Erik turned his head and looked at Marcien, who was just outside the door on the landing. "I suppose it is, _oui_."

The other man leaned on the other side of the door. "Now that you're back in her life, she's been happier. Genuinely. I… should probably apologize for reacting so badly when we first met."

"I accept your apology. I understand how close you are to her and that you care about her. It is only natural that you would protect her, even from me."

Marcien snorted at his answer. "You know, for all your great powers, Camillé was correct. You're a horrible liar."

"Pardon?"

"You're not pleased with the idea that I'm close to her at all. I cannot say that I blame you, either. If my woman were getting close with somebody else, I'd probably kill the man, no questions asked."

Erik thought for a moment and frowned. "It is comforting to know that in my absence, she has had a close friend to rely on for her strength… but yes, in general, you are correct. The idea of another man becoming _close _to Camillé does bother me. Is this unkind of me, akin to smothering her?"

"I would be more worried for you if it didn't," he responded, looking back at Erik with a smirk. "And so long as you don't make a fuss about it, it shouldn't be a problem. Haven't you ever courted a woman before?"

"The area of courting is… not my strongest suit."

"From the way you're acting, I'm officially shocked that you ever ended up engaged to that spitfire. Just how unconventional was your relationship?"

Erik internally winced at the disbelieving and almost condescending tone in Marcien's voice. "Very much so."

"_Coquin_, who are you talking to up there?" called a voice Erik did not know.

"No one, just looking at you guys and muttering to myself about how stupid you all are," he jibed, grinning at them.

Another man scoffed. "Then why don't you come down here and show us all just how much of a _genius_ you are, huh?"

Camillé grinned, knowing he was up there talking to Erik. "Come on, 'Cien. Join us."

"Alright, fine," he groaned, tromping down the stairs like an elephant.

Erik caught Camillé's eye and mouthed, '_Merci_, _Bien-Aimée_.'

She merely smirked and turned back to the game at hand. Marcien was dealt a hand the next round and joined in the merry-making with a jolt of the alcohol being passed around. Erik smiled in a melancholy way at them, suddenly longing for human companionship. He knew that Camillé and Marcien had received him well enough here, but he had yet to show his face to the others. Now was not the time. Later. Granted, he had always said later.

And now he wondered when 'later' would be.

* * *

><p>"It's been three months. When is 'later,' Erik?"<p>

"I do not know. When is 'soon,' Camillé?"

She let out a breath of exasperation and rolled off of Erik's lap to her own side of the bed. "Please refrain from using that against me. I know I've said 'soon' so many times, but…"

Erik stilled and looked at the bed sheets. "You still have not forgiven me, have you?"

There was a long moment of silence in which there were no sounds, not even the sound of breathing.

"No. I haven't."

"Will this hang between us forever, _Bien-Aimée_?"

She sighed, a long sound. "I don't know. Will it?"

The bed shifted and Erik's hand lightly ghosted over her clothed shoulder, stopping to rest against the skin of her neck. "There is a rift between us, Camillé. No matter how close we are, I cannot seem to breach that gap. Both of us know how this will end if that wound is never healed."

"We'll never be the same again. It'll hang between us and cause tension, and eventually it'll be too much. We'll break and I will never see you again. No matter how much I love you, we'll be separated by it."

His lips descended where his fingertips had been on her neck moments before. "I do not want this to come between us. _Je t'aime, _Camillé, and I do not want to lose you."

She turned around, wrapping her arms around his neck and nestling her head into the crook of his neck. "I don't want to lose you, either. How do we fix this, Erik?"

Erik leaned back into the pillows on the bed, keeping Camillé on his chest. He kissed her hair with a long inhaled breath. "I do not know. All I can hope for is to continue to remind you that I love you and only you, and hope that one day you take it to heart."

"It's hard to believe the promises of one who broke their first promise."

He winced and stroked down her spine with his long fingers. "I remember. And I have apologized profusely, but that likely does me no good, does it?"

"They're practically empty words. I want to believe you… I do, honestly, but how can I?" she asked, and sighed deeply. "I want to forgive you, Erik. I just… don't know how."

"For now, I can accept my continued existence as the closest thing to forgiveness as I can get. But I still wish to marry you. I have for over two years," he brought her head up and kissed her gently, "I will beg on my knees if that is what it takes for you to put that ring back on."

She chuckled and laid her head against his shoulder again. "Now _that_ I would like to see."

Erik slipped out from underneath her and got down to the floor, where he knelt and held his hands up in front of him, clasped as if about to pray. "Please, Camillé, forgive me. You are my heart, my soul, my very essence. Without you, I am nothing but a shell of a man, invigorated only by the thought of being with you again."

Camillé stared in awe for a moment, then began to smile and internally chuckle.

"My foolishness is all I followed to the young girl, driven by my madness in the supposed loss of you. She was never more than a distraction for me, not a love as you were and are. I was driven mad with grief when I thought that you had left me, that I had lost you forever and you were no longer mine. The idea that you did not love me and never had tore at my very heart until I was a shell of my former self. I cannot survive unless I have you, or the prospect of you, the mere _idea _of you is not enough. I would make you my wife, give you all that I am, if you would have me. You are to be cherished and loved, to be adored and pedestaled. There is nothing I would not do for you, surely you must know this."

She couldn't help her chuckle now at the look on his face, then gently smiled at him with pity and regret.

He sighed. "I know that I have been less than the ideal lover to you, and far less than you deserve. But if you would accept me, as I am, with my imperfections and with my stupidities, with my inexperience, with my hideous soul, with… with my deformities, I would gladly spend the rest of my life dedicating my every moment to you and your happiness. Never again will I ever think of another, you are all there is for me, and all there will ever be. My very being belongs to you, all of me is yours… if you would but have me."

"Oh, Erik," she breathed, looking with great sadness at the man she loved.

"Please, Camillé, my one and only love, _ma chatte_, _ma Bien-Aimée_," he begged, looking as if his world was ending, "Please say that you forgive me. Even if you do not truly forgive me, tell me you do and I shall be satisfied. Do not let this rift come between us, please. I love you too ardently to lose you now. It would kill me. _Si vous plait_, _mon amour_, _prenez-moi _(Please, my love, take me)."

She looked into his eyes for the longest moment. "The words you said were beautiful. I… want to believe them. I do. _Je suis désolé, _Erik (I am sorry)."

Tears filled his eyes, pouring over both his cheeks and under his chin and into his mouth. His body was wracked with sobs and he looked at her with such a sad expression she almost burst into tears herself. She closed her eyes and looked down, trying to keep from crying. The sounds of his anguished sobs grew to be too much and she fled from the room, racing up the stairs to her office and shutting the door behind her, giving in to the terrible sadness that washed over her. Camillé slid down her office door to the ground, her eyes filling and spilling over.

* * *

><p>Her tears did not subside for a long while. When she was finally finished, she stood up slowly and unsteadily. She wiped her eyes with her chemise sleeves and took several long, deep breaths. After a moment, when she thought that she was normal enough to venture back to her bedroom to talk to him, she opened her door and silently padded down the stairs. Marcien appeared in front of her and tried to block her from getting to her room.<p>

"Camillé," he started, but she tried to push past him.

"Not now, 'Cien, I need to talk to Erik."

He moved in front of her again. "Camillé, please, you need to listen –"

She sighed. "We can talk later, I'm sure whatever it is can wait." She pushed him out of the way.

He caught her arm. "Please, this is about –"

"Whatever it's about," she growled, wrenching her arm from his grasp, "it can wait."

"No, wait, Camillé!" he called as she marched off to her room.

He caught up to her just as she opened the door and barged into the room.

It was a mess. Her nightstand had been knocked over, her wardrobe opened. Her cloaks were everywhere and the box had been opened. His song for her, the one she had tied the black ribbon around, was the only thing in the room that had not been ransacked. It lay on the floor amongst the tussled bed sheets and clothing and just beside a large dark spot on the floor, looking pristine and new as if the parchment had never been touched. The ribbon lay here, but the ring she had intended to give him was gone.

Camillé was in a sort of stunned silence as she reached down and picked up the ribbon and noticed the edges that had sat in the dark spot on the floor, tinged darker than the rest. Her fingers came away from it streaked with red. She stared at it for what felt like hours. No questions, no thoughts, just silence. Pure, stifling silence. Her eyes turned to Marcien slowly, almost too slowly. He looked at her, concerned. She swallowed thickly.

"Where is he?"

* * *

><p><em>I am so sorry. I've been gone for a really long time, so I gave you guys a long chapter to make up for it. I realize it's probably not long enough and the cliffhanger at the end doesn't help, does it?<em>

_You have no idea how hard it was to write this chapter. Really hard._

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to kill me for what I'm doing to our two favorite murderers? Review or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


	9. Camellia's Return

**Chapter Eight: Camellia's Return**

"Where is he?"

Marcien looked at her with sad eyes. "We don't know, Camillé."

"What do you mean, we don't know?" she asked, stunned, tears forming in her eyes.

He came up to her and wrapped his arms around her as she began to shake with her sobs. "There are signs of a struggle, but we don't know where Erik went. That's what I was going to tell you before you barged in here."

Camillé held onto her adopted brother as he pulled her close to him. This was all her fault. If she had just forgiven him, if she had just told him she wanted to be with him and accepted the ring back on her finger, he would still be here. Even if the person who'd attacked him had still attacked, there would have been both of them there to defend. Erik could have been surprised by the person in his anguish. He was probably hurt and taken somewhere. But where? There were no signs of the struggle, and no doubt Marcien had everyone checking outside for any signs of escapees.

When Raotu, their best tracker, came walking into the room with soft steps, she was barely paying attention. Many of both their words slipped past her ears, lost in a void of sound. All she could hear was her heart beating in her head. Only one phrase slipped through before nothing else could get to her.

"There's no sign of them anywhere."

* * *

><p><em>Four Days Later, the White Camellia<em>

All of this was like a nightmarish return to the past for Daniel. He hadn't been in this city for over a year, having avoided it since he returned to find Camillé gone from the de Chagny estate. They'd never found her. Most assumed she'd run away and eloped with someone. Daniel held the ruby ring he'd always kept with him in his hand, leaning on the railing of the White Camellia. When he steered the ship into port later that day, he couldn't help but feel like he was returning to that situation two years ago, when he'd come to get his beloved for her father. Everything about this was just so similar. Except that now, the Opera Populaire was gone, Camillé was gone, and her ex-fiancé Erik was dead.

He walked through the streets, hands in his pockets, dressed like a proper gentleman. Though he had to admit that the stubble that he sported from shaving on a ship was not quite "proper", but he still looked wealthy. The suit he was wearing certainly made him appear of great power, and he supposed he was. The business that he owned was quite profitable. Granted, he only knew that because of the reports his hired men gave him. Long ago, he'd hired employees to take over the hard business of running everything so he would be free to sail. The money always came back to him, but since he sailed everywhere and rarely stopped at port for very long anymore, he'd decided more of it would be given back to the sailors who also worked under this business umbrella. The sailors and captains who worked for him – in essence – were always paid well for their work.

The café he stopped at was a small one, but had been one of his favorites when he had frequented Paris a long time ago. Times were different now, but the café, he discovered, had the same good food and drink as it had always had. He spent a good few minutes just sitting there, drinking the tea he'd been served. Suddenly, someone set their hand on his shoulder. He turned around and grinned.

"Samuel Beaumont!" he exclaimed, getting up and greeting the man.

Samuel smiled back, greeting him. "Daniel Merrick, fancy running into you here in Paris."

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asked, greeting the young woman beside him the same way.

"This is my bride, Marguerite," the businessman explained, grinning.

Daniel turned to him in surprise as the girl blushed. "You, married?"

"Love makes fools of us all, as they say," Sam replied, then gestured to two of the empty seats at the table. "May we join you?"

"By all means," the captain invited, and the three sat down. "What brings you all the way to Paris?"

Sam looked over at his bride and his eyes filled with love. "We were married a week ago and we're currently on our honeymoon. Yourself?"

"That's wonderful," Daniel replied, "I'm here on business, I'm afraid."

"Well of course, Captain, I would expect nothing less."

He leaned back and crossed his legs. "In truth, I haven't had much shore leave in months. This week is the first shore leave my sailors and I have taken for a while."

"When did you arrive?" Samuel asked, doing the same.

"We docked just over an hour ago."

"So you'll be here all week?"

Daniel nodded with a smile. "If all goes according to plan."

Samuel grinned at him. "Perhaps we could arrange a time to properly get reacquainted."

"I would not argue that. Where are you staying?"

"At Le Salle de Marquis," Samuel explained, then asked, "And yourself?"

"I'll be staying on my ship, the White Camellia. No use wasting money on a room in an inn if you have a ship with your own private cabin."

"That makes sense," he laughed, then turned to his little wife, "Say, Meg, why don't you go find some nice new dresses? I'd like to take you out for supper tonight."

Meg smiled and nodded. "Alright," she agreed. "Will you still be here when I return?"

"I shall remain here for you," he promised and kissed her hand, making her blush. "Take our driver with you, dear. I don't want you getting hurt." Then, once his wife had left, Samuel turned to Daniel and fixed him with a more serious expression, lowering his voice. "I've heard rumor of a large group of criminals in town."

Daniel frowned. "Truly?"

Sam nodded, sighing. "They're good at what they do. So far, no one's caught any of them. It's been rumored they're run by a woman. It couldn't a woman, though."

"Who do they say it is?" he asked softly, wondering if this could be it. Could she have been in Paris this whole time?

"I've only heard whispers, mind you, but they sound like they're saying Le Chat Mort, or something of the sort," the businessman told him, sipping his tea. "Obviously a male."

The captain shook his head. "No, you've got it wrong."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know what name you're trying to say. There's only one criminal who goes by a name like that," he corrected, leaning back and sighing, a faint smile on his face. "La Chatte Noire. So she's here, then."

Samuel nodded, but gave him a queer look. "_Oui. _But… how do you know that name?"

"I used to be acquainted with that particular individual a year or two ago."

"You acquaint yourself with criminals?"

Daniel laughed aloud, a deeper sound than it used to be. "No, of course not. I've merely come face to face with her before."

"And you survived? They say she's very deadly."

"She is," he agreed, and drunk the last of his tea, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a transaction to make."

Samuel was confused, but decided to let the captain be. "_Au revoir, _Captain. Come find me!"

Daniel bowed as he walked away, grinning as he turned back around. He was going to find her.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, Headquarters of La Poignard Cramoisi<em>

Camillé looked up as Jarod walked into her office. She leaned back and smiled at him. "Jarod, what brings you into my office today?"

"I'm here with the report about the break-in four days ago, mam'selle."

Her smile almost faded, but she kept it up. "Very well. What is it?"

"We found something," he started, then froze as he thought. "I think you'd better see it for yourself."

"Show me," she ordered, standing up.

He held out his hands and held out a white mask. Camillé tried to keep her composure around this lackey, knowing Jarod had no knowledge of Erik's existence, much like the rest of the syndicate. She nodded minutely.

"Thank you, Jarod. Was this helpful to the investigation at all?" her voice was soft.

The thief nodded. "_Coquin _said it would be helpful to him."

She swallowed and forced a smile as she looked at the young man. "Is there anything else?"

"_Non_, mam'selle."

"Then you're dismissed. Thank you for bringing this to me," she told him, and nodded to the door of her office. "Please send _Coquin _in to see me when you leave."

He nodded respectfully to the woman he answered to. "_Oui_, mam'selle." He walked out the door.

Camillé sat down at her desk, sighing. Her eyes filled with tears, nothing able to hold them back. The blood she'd found on the floor had told her that Erik had been taken from her. Somewhere out there, he was pretty significantly injured. It had been four days. Four days of absolute torture thinking that she was the reason he had been caught off-guard. He was gone because she'd screwed up, again. She picked up the moonstone pendant around her neck and looked down at it. They'd been so happy then, so in love. What had happened?

Someone knocked and Camillé dashed away her tears. "Come in," she told the person at the door.

Marcien walked into the room and saw the carefully practiced blank expression on her face. He closed the door behind him softly, making sure no one could eavesdrop on her breakdown. Everything about her – the blank face, the tense shoulders, the hand carefully clasping her necklace – said that the breakdown was inevitable. The adopted brother wisely said nothing, knowing it would do neither one of them any good. He simply walked around her desk and took her into his arms. It took her a moment, but she began to shake with tears. The man rested his head on hers as she wrapped her arms around his torso and cried. He hated this. Camillé was strong – stronger than this. This was not the Camillé he knew. What if this was past Camillé?

* * *

><p><em>The Streets of Paris<em>

Daniel Merrick turned quickly, catching the pickpocket in the act. He took the firearm from the man, pointing it at his head with pin-point accuracy. It was far easier to be accurate on land than on a ship, he mentally commented. Something was wrong. The man didn't look afraid, nor did he look for be particularly frightened of the captain holding a gun aimed at his head.

"Go on, shoot," he challenged, grinning, "Somebody else'll come after you for it."

Daniel narrowed his eyes for a second. "I'm not going to kill you, no, you're much too useful for that. I want you to take me to your employer."

"Why would I do that?" the thief asked, laughing at him.

"Because if you don't, I can and will maim you. I am above killing, but sending you back missing a few appendages won't kill you."

The rogue's eyes widened and he nodded, swallowing. "Alright, alright. I'll take you to them."

Daniel mentally grinned at his success. Apparently he'd gotten better at lying than he thought he had.

* * *

><p><em>The Headquarters of La Poignard Cramoisi<em>

Camillé and Marcien looked at each other, hearing the doors crash open. They raced to the door and 'Cien opened it, letting them both out. Camillé looked down over the room, seeing one of their newest recruits backing away from two people, one of which was dressed as a fine gentleman would be, the other in a torn shirt and covered in blood. The one with a torn shirt pushed yet a fourth man into the main room, looking tired yet enraged. Camillé looked back and forth between the gentleman and the torn man quickly, unsure she was actually seeing this and not just having some strange dream.

She turned to Marcien and asked lowly, "You're seeing this, right?"

'Cien nodded. "Seeing, yes. Still working on believing."

The gentleman looked up at her and she started in shock. "Hello, love," he said in English, grinning. "Been a long time, hasn't it?"

All she could so was stare as the other one caught the fourth man and turned him around, bending his hands behind his back so he was immobile. He looked up towards her and she could see his face plain and clear, his voice calling out in a musical baritone, "I believe I have something which belongs to you, _Bien-Aimée._"

"Daniel? Erik?"

Daniel stepped forward and bowed, his aim still perfect on the new lackey. "The one and only Captain of the White Camellia. I've missed you, Camillé."

"I've missed you too," she said, distracted, as she came down the stairs at the speed of light. "Erik, are you trying to kill him?"

The Phantom threw the other man to the ground. "He tried to kill me."

"Fair enough," 'Cien remarked from behind her.

She was still clutching his mask in her hand, and walked up to hand it to him. "You might want this."

He nodded and took it from her. "Thank you," he said, and quickly replaced it on the right side of his face. "So am I correct? Does that belong to you?"

Camillé turned and scowled at the man on the floor. He had sat up onto his knees, but hadn't bothered to try and move with _Coquin _standing above him, sword drawn. "He'd like to think he doesn't, but after that stunt he just pulled, he's _mine_," she hissed, and looked at _Coquin_. "Take him and lock him in the shed. Watch him carefully. I don't want him escaping."

The Rogue nodded and picked the other man up to his feet with the help of Kanto, a literal powerhouse of muscle. They dragged him away without another word. Camillé then turned her attention to the little man that Daniel was pointing the pistol at.

"Daniel, lower your weapon," she ordered.

The captain was caught off-guard by her tone. She sounded like a woman who was in control and totally confident… which did not match her appearance. He could see the evidence of her tears on her face, and could see the anguish in her eyes when she looked at Erik. Granted, he was still shocked that the Opera Ghost was actually still alive. He must have been one tough bastard. Reluctantly, but instantly, he lowered the gun.

Camillé stalked over to her prey slowly, making the new guy nervous. "How, exactly, did we get to this situation?"

The lackey swallowed. "I… uh…"

She sighed. The kid was maybe… fifteen? Sixteen at most? "What do you call yourself, boy?"

"Um… _Loutre_."

"_Loutre _(Otter)?" she asked, seeming appalled by the name. He nodded. "Alright, if that's really what you want me to call you…" she trailed off, and several of the other members of the syndicate chuckled. "_Loutre,_ how did he catch you?"

He shrugged. "I was pickpocketing him and he just turned around and pulled my own gun from me."

"So that's your gun?"

Daniel held it up and examined it as the boy nodded. "Fairly crude make. Must have been cheap. Do you want me to give it back to him?"

Camillé shook her head. "No, he needs to learn his lesson first. _Loutre_, I want you to listen very closely to me."

The boy nodded again, looking at her intensely. "_Oui_, mam'selle."

"You are not to return to the streets for a month," he looked about to argue, but the look she gave him silenced him. "In that time, you will have _Coquin_ teach you to _properly _pickpocket and steal. You are extremely lucky that it was Captain Merrick who caught you, and not someone else, or they would have fired that gun instantly and you would be dead. Understand?"

"_Oui_, mam'selle," he answered, seeming very down-trodden and ashamed.

"Good," she remarked, then sighed. "I will brief _Coquin _on your lessons and he will come to collect you. Until then, return to your room and wait for instruction."

The boy marched off sullenly. Everyone in the room looked at Camillé a little differently at that moment. Those from the syndicate knew that she could be merciful, but had never encountered that side of her before. She was willing to have him taught, not just kicked him out of the headquarters, which surprised many of them. Daniel and Erik however, were both thinking the same thing: Camillé would make a fantastic mother.

Daniel walked up to her first. "What do you want me to do with this?" he asked, holding up the boy's gun.

"I'll take it," she said, and he handed it to her. "So, Daniel, it's been an awfully long time. Over a year. You look…" she looked him up and down, "different."

"Different how?"

Camillé looked back at Erik and gestured to him while she began walking to your office. "Come," she beckoned them both, "We can talk while I'm patching up Mr. Shredded over here."

Both of the men followed her to the stairs, where she told them to go up before her. Once Erik had opened the study and both had entered it, Camillé turned to the assorted criminals in the room. Jarod walked up to her and cleared his throat.

"It's not my place, mam'selle," he started, and swallowed. "But is that safe? I just… we don't know those men and we don't want anything to happen to you."

She smiled at the concern in his voice, looking around and seeing the others nodding in general agreement. Then she reached out and placed a hand on Jarod's arm. "Thank you all for your concern. Both of these men are safe – I trust Erik and Daniel with my life."

They all nodded, content with her answer, but still wary. They would keep an eye on them anyway, she knew that. But she also knew that they trusted her and respected her, so they wouldn't make a fuss. With one final nodding smile at her employees, she bounded up the stairs and went into her office. Erik was sitting on her desk, her medical kit already out beside him, and he was trying to stitch up one of his larger cuts. She sighed at the not-entirely-terrible job he was doing and took the needle from him, continuing the stitches. Daniel had situated himself in the chair in front of her desk and smiled when she looked over at him.

Captain Merrick had become very handsome in the last year. His hair, which had been to his shoulders the last time she saw him, was how to the middle of his back and he still kept it tied back with a ribbon. The hazel eyes she remembered were brighter, more vivid. His face had weathered a little bit from the extreme conditions of the sea, making him look like a man, no longer the boy he'd always resembled. There were a few lines here and there – more than before – and he still appeared young, just mature. On his chin, there was stubble from where he had shaved just before coming on land. His skin was tanned and he was truly muscular. He looked very handsome. His smile could have knocked her off her feet if she weren't in love with Erik. It still did, to an extent.

She smiled at him. "You look good," she commented, "I take it you're doing well with the business?"

"Well, for having it suddenly dumped into my lap, I'd say I've done well, yes," he teased, smirking.

Camillé winced. "I apologize about that. I probably wouldn't take it back, though."

Daniel rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. "Of course you wouldn't."

She cut the string and tied off Erik's stitches. "Well, it turned out pretty well for me in the end, don't you think?"

"I don't know," he countered with a sing-song voice, "I seem to remember something about an occupation as a criminal being worse than an occupation as a merchant."

"Oh, do be quiet," Camillé laughed as she moved to stitch another wound.

Erik looked at Camillé's face as she talked with Daniel. The conversation was comfortable and easy-going, and he'd managed to make her smile in only a few minutes. Erik had missed her laugh. He hadn't heard it in… who knows how long. It had been an endeavor to get her to smile, laughing was almost out of the question. And now she was being perfectly normal. Part of him wondered if maybe this was an act.

"Never. What I'd like to know is how the Great and Powerful Phantom survived the fire in the Populaire," Daniel suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Camillé shrugged and continued patching him up, waiting for Erik to speak. "Are you certain you want to know?"

"Of course I do. That was devastating – I saw the remains of it."

Erik furrowed his brows, confused. "When?"

Daniel scoffed. "Who do you think brought Camillé to Paris after we heard about the fire?"

Camillé frowned at the tone in his voice. "Daniel…" she warned, cutting another string and tying stitches.

"Sorry," he apologized, switching his crossed legs. "I came with her. How did you survive?"

"I took back passages and left with Caesar. Caesar is my stallion," he explained softly at Daniel's strange look. "I left Paris for a while."

Camillé gasped and stopped tying, suddenly remembering. "What about Ayesha?" she asked, worried for her kitten.

Erik smiled down at her. "She's fine. She came to me a few months before I found you. You'll be happy to hear that she never really liked Christine."

Daniel snorted as she continued in her healing work. "I don't blame her." Both Camillé and Erik raised their eyebrows at him, and he shrugged. "What? I found her annoying."

The Phantom frowned, but his woman just laughed. "Glad we agree. I might have gotten along with her for a little while, but she was rather annoying most of the time."

"You didn't find her that annoying when we were under the Opera House," Erik reminded her, "You stood up for her health when I didn't consider it. What happened?"

Camillé sighed and kissed Erik's cheek briefly before going back her task of now wrapping his wounds in gauze. "_Mon amour_, I hate to tell you this, but she's always been annoying. I tolerated her existence in our life for your sake."

Daniel laughed. "Now _that _is love. Don't take that for granted."

Erik glared at the wall in front of him, grateful that he was facing away from the good captain. Or perhaps he wasn't.

The small talk continued for a short time. Daniel informed Camillé of Samuel's marriage to Meg, and she had a moment of ecstatic questioning. They spoke about the time he'd been having with the business, how she'd been doing running a syndicate, what had happened between her and Erik. They had just gotten to their current debacle when Marcien opened the door and entered the room.

Camillé frowned. "What about –"

"I set both Kanto and Holder to watch him," 'Cien assured her, holding up a hand to stop her as he sat in the other chair in front of her desk.

Erik stood from her desk as she sat in her chair behind it, coming and standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Camillé looked at their faces and sighed. "So what are we going to do now?"

Marcien shrugged, telling her silently he was torn. "What _are _we going to do with him?"

Daniel looked back and forth between them. "With who?"

"The man who attacked Erik," Camillé explained, "_Sabre_."

* * *

><p><em>Woah... I uploaded a chapter. SHOCKING!<em>

_This is my belated Christmas present to you lot. Is it a good present? Did I do good?_

_I'm sorry I've had such large jumps between chapters. It's probably not very nice of me. I try. I've had this funny little affliction called Writer's Block, however, which makes this difficult._

_Anyway, I love you all still. I promise._

_Any questions, comments, concerns? Wondering why the Hell Sabre attacked Erik? REVIEW or drop me a line!_

_- Emmy_


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